


Dark Shadows: Shattered

by ImpossibleCase



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpossibleCase/pseuds/ImpossibleCase
Summary: The past returns to haunt Elizabeth Collins Stoddard as a secret she has guarded close to her heart is finally revealed.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The seed of this story had been germinating in my mind for some time and I decided it was long past time to write it. "Dark Shadows" was often inspired by literary works and this tale is no different. One major influence was the film "The Watcher in the Woods", which was the first scary movie I ever saw and its images have remained with me ever since. My main goal with writing this story was resolving the offscreen death of Victoria Winters as well as the truth about her lineage.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand —

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep — while I weep!

O, God! Can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

— Edgar Allen Poe

The last thing she remembered was falling. Then, there was nothing but darkness. The terror, the certainty of her death being a heartbeat away had been swallowed up and replaced by an all-consuming nothingness. She existed in a sea of inky blackness, unable to feel, unable to see. It was a fate worse than death. At least death’s chilling embrace would offer some small comfort.

There was no sense of time, let alone anything to indicate how long she had been here. She faced an eternity alone in an atramentous void with only herself for company. But how had she ended up here? Was it all a terrible nightmare? One she simply could not wake herself up from? She summoned all of her willpower and told herself, Wake up! And yet, the great emptiness remained.

She struggled to move, to find anything of substance. Whatever circumstances had abandoned her to this fate, she would not allow it to continue. She would find a way to escape. She had to. Somehow — miraculously — she found her voice and cried out, “Help me!”

*****

A gloved hand settled over the rounded cap of an elegant walking stick as its owner, a man concealed in shadows, who wore a fitted suit topped off with a bowler hat. The air itself seemed to be disturbed by his presence, shifting as if to avoid him. Even the fresh grass beneath his feet withered away, leaving nothing but dead stems in his wake. 

He stepped through the trees and peered through the branches at the imposing mansion before him. Seeing the house again filled him with a mixture of emotions. There had been a time when he would have rejoiced over the structure being blasted into fragments at his feet. But then, the unexpected happened — a rare and mythic thing called love. Fleeting though it was, it upset his plans and the manor endured. Jealousy — blind and cruel — followed, trapping him in a vicious paradoxical cycle of loathing and devotion.

He tilted his head back and stared up at one illuminated window. If he concentrated hard enough, he could sense the woman moving around inside of her bedroom. A deep pang thudded within his chest, reminding of a time when he had last felt affection for something other than himself. With an effort, he abolished the memory. The past had become a blank slate. All that mattered was the future and the moment had arrived to set events in motion. 

With one gentle wave of his hand, the air in front of him rippled and disturbed the limbs of the trees. The leaves rustled as if a mighty gust of wind surged from the sea and battered the great house. He lowered his hand and the gale subsided; the deed has been done, the spell cast. Tonight, the woman would experience a dream — a very special dream intended to connect the past with the future.  Wearing a cunning smile, he doffed his hat at the house, turned on his heel, and disappeared back into the shadows.

*****

_ Collinwood, 1971. The illustrious Collins family of Collinsport, Maine — once plagued by seemingly endless disasters — have enjoyed a rare period of peace and happiness. Seizing upon this opportunity, each family member has embarked on their own journey taking some far and wide. In an attempt to uncover the secrets of Collinwood’s troubled past, Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes has become a parapsychology student under the tutelage of Professor T. Eliot Stokes. Meanwhile, Barnabas Collins and Dr. Julia Hoffman have temporarily departed Collinsport in an effort to finally lift a witch’s curse. But for one member of the Collins family, tonight will shatter the short-lived tranquility as Elizabeth Collins Stoddard finds herself gripped by unimaginable terror... _

Soft clouds whispered across the sky, allowing shards of moonlight to illuminate a hulking mansion down below. For 176 years, Collinwood sat atop Widows’ Hill as a symbol of the Collins family’s wealth and power, casting its shadow over the town of Collinsport. Within its walls, matriarch Elizabeth Collins Stoddard settled herself in for the night. Dressed in an elegant peppermint striped gown, she sat at a vanity table and brushed her dark, shoulder-length hair. Now in her early fifties, Elizabeth remained stunningly beautiful and every inch the grande dame she presented despite the years of being haunted by her past.

She exhaled and the sound almost startled her. The house had been incredibly quiet of late. Although she should have been grateful for the silence, Elizabeth missed the frequent coming-and-going of her daughter Carolyn as well as the spontaneous rambunctiousness of her nephew David. She felt a deep pang in her heart over the thought of him. After Maggie Evans’ hospitalization and Hallie Stokes’ departure to live with relatives, David had been cast adrift without a governess and a friend. And David had become more difficult to live with again. His arguments with his father, Roger, were too numerous to comprehend.

When several runaway attempts had brought the unwanted attention of the police, Roger had insisted on a boarding school for his son and, much to Elizabeth’s surprise and protests, David had agreed. It seemed as if her nephew jumped at the chance to break free like a caged bird and fly as far and as fast as he could away from Collinwood. Elizabeth recalled how troubled David once was and how she had stood firm against Roger having the boy sent away. No longer a boy but a young man capable of making his own decisions, Elizabeth had left the matter to him. It pained her deeply that her nephew chose to leave. She had hoped for her brother and David to find a compromise. But that was an impossible wish. As Carolyn had pointed out, David was a teenager and there was simply no reasoning with one, especially when that teenager happened to be a Collins.

Elizabeth consoled herself with the fact David would return home for the holidays, and she would continue to oversee Collins Enterprises until he was old enough to inherit the business. Of course, Roger would never admit it, but underneath that façade of aloofness, she knew he missed David in his own way. Perhaps he yearned more for the father-son arguments than anything else? Whatever the case, Roger had thrown himself into his work at the Collins Fishing Fleet and turned out to be more reliable and productive than ever before. It came as something of a relief to Elizabeth and allowed her to focus on her own life.

After 18 years of living as a recluse, Elizabeth Collins Stoddard had hesitantly transformed herself into a social butterfly. Now a member of The Collinsport Historical Society, Elizabeth often found herself being called to speak at events or to simply make an appearance at local functions. It was a far cry from the person she used to be, one that almost seemed like a distant memory.

She gave another long sigh, put her hairbrush down and pushed herself up from the table. She moved across the room to her bed, where the covers had already been flawlessly turned down by Mrs. Johnson, the family’s housekeeper. Elizabeth reached for a glass of water and a pink pill awaiting her on the nightstand. She could not remember the last time she had slept without a sedative and she highly doubted she would ever be able to again. As she sank into bed, Elizabeth could already feel the effects of the drug lulling her to sleep. In what seemed like no time at all, she closed her eyes and began to dream...

The cliff of Widows’ Hill was unmistakable. Barren except for a lone dead tree with spindly limbs, the precipice had lured many a sorrowful victim to its edge where the jagged rocks below waited to claim another soul. Once, long ago, Elizabeth almost joined their number. She recalled the voices of the Widows calling out to her like the Sirens of Greek mythology. In total despair, Elizabeth had answered and made her way to this lonely perch where the summoning of the Widows imploring her to jump had been snatched away by the howling of the wind and the roar of the ocean waves crashing on the steepled rocks. She would have died that night if not for the efforts of Victoria Winters, David’s governess, who convinced her to face the truth and fight Jason McGuire’s vile blackmail attempt.

Now, Elizabeth stood on the cliff again. Only this time, she was to bear witness to another woman’s tragedy. The figure wavered precariously on the edge and Elizabeth gasped in horror. Overhead, a storm broke and drenched them in torrents of rain while lightning bolts sliced their way across the blackened sky. Elizabeth screamed, “Don’t jump! Come away from the edge! Please!”

And yet her pleas went unheeded. Elizabeth took a step closer, hoping to bridge the gap between herself and the other woman. The wind picked up and Elizabeth squinted against the gale, making it almost impossible to discern the figure’s long, dark hair whipping around her shoulders. “I’m almost there,” Elizabeth’s voice strained with desperation. “I won’t let you fall. I won’t!”

Suddenly, a man’s malevolent laughter cut through the deafening howling of the wind. Elizabeth froze in shock. The voice... it was familiar but she couldn’t quite place it. “Who are you?” she demanded, growing angrier as the laughter intensified, “I won’t let you hurt her! I can save her, I know I can!”

Within a few inches away from the other woman, Elizabeth stretched out her hand even as she felt herself being buffeted by the storm. She felt the warm fabric of the figure’s crimson dress and a sense of relief began to wash over her. Encouraged, Elizabeth’s actions fueled with determination, she began to carefully pull on the other woman’s arm and draw her away from harm.

But then a booming peal of thunder coupled by the incessant laughter of the phantom broke through Elizabeth’s grasp, sending her reeling backward as she could only watch helplessly as the figure she had tried so desperately to save plummeted over the edge. “No!” she exclaimed, crawling her way over the ground to peer down at the rocks. As if in slow motion, the other woman fell toward her watery grave... only to be swallowed up in the shadows.

Unable to fully comprehend what she had witnessed, Elizabeth covered her ears as the man’s laughter threatened to overwhelm her. “Stop it! Stop it!” she cried out. And just like that, the wild chuckling ended and the storm subsided. Elizabeth found herself completely surrounded by darkness. She glanced all-around only to discover the vast emptiness stretched out forever. Even the cliff of Widows’ Hill had disappeared. Fear struck her to the core, sending a bone-chilling shiver through her body. She was alone, utterly and completely alone... until she wasn’t.

Two pinpricks of white appeared in the distance. “H-hello?” Elizabeth faltered, “Is anyone there?”

The image focused as the two objects moved closer and Elizabeth steeled herself as she realized it was two pale disembodied hands. They reached out in supplication and a small voice pleaded, “Help me!”

Elizabeth awoke, screaming.

*****

Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes drove her way along the road leading to Collinwood’s estate. It never ceased to amaze her what a treacherous journey it could be. One wrong turn, the slightest distraction, and the road could put one’s life in serious danger. That’s what happens when your kooky family decides to live on a cliff, she told herself. She would never forget how her uncle Roger had almost lost his life traversing the pathway. Of course, in Roger’s case, David’s tampering with the brake cylinder of his car had a lot to do with it. She shook her head at the memory, her long blond hair rustling her shoulders. Nearly six years ago. What a difference time makes.

She returned her attention to the road as the great iron gate inscribed with the name COLLINS eventually appeared. Carolyn parked and stepped out of the car, unlocking and opening the gate wide enough for her Volkswagen to ease through. As she eased back into the driver’s seat, her mind wandered back to the telephone call she’d received from her mother earlier in the week. Elizabeth has been cryptic but insistent to speak to her about something important. The conversation left her immensely curious and somewhat frustrated that her mother simply could not tell her over the phone. Carolyn tried to imagine what crisis had occurred that required her presence at the ancestral heap. She wondered if David had returned and there had been an almighty blow-up between him and his father. Carolyn really wasn’t in the mood to diffuse one of those situations.

As she drove past the greenhouse and the stable, Carolyn had to admit she missed the estate a little. Her studies had kept her preoccupied and she felt guilty for not phoning her mother more often. She hoped this weekend trip would clear those feelings and set her mind at ease. Years ago she had longed for a white knight to ride up on his trusty steed and rescue from the dungeon she likened Collinwood to. It had taken a long time for her to realize she didn’t need rescuing, she could escape anytime she liked. All it took was setting one foot outside the door and keep ongoing. The independence was invigorating, but in her heart of hearts Carolyn knew something would always draw her home to Collinwood... like the proverbial moth to a flame.

The mansion came into view, stirring mixed feelings in Carolyn. Collinwood was a double-edged sword. It had brought the family tragedy and happiness, which seemed to go hand in hand. As a Collins, you simply could not have one without the other. It was a fact of life she had grown accustomed to. She felt a little smile tug at one corner of her mouth as she spotted her old bedroom window. Carolyn had no trouble imagining it looked exactly the same as the day she’d left.

Parking her car in the garage, Carolyn removed a suitcase from the backseat as well as a wrapped package which she tucked under her arm. She waved to one of the servants tending the garden before walking up the path to the great doors. Before she could retrieve her key, the doors burst open and she was greeted by her mother, who embraced her warmly.

“Carolyn, you’re home. Oh, how I’ve missed you, darling.”

“I’ve missed you too, mother,” Carolyn responded sincerely. She felt a tug on her heart and closed her eyes to take in the moment.

“What on earth have you got there?” Elizabeth wondered as she stepped back and noticed the package her daughter was carrying.

“Now mother, you didn’t really think I would come home without bearing gifts. Did you?”

“You didn’t have to do that, darling. Having you back home is gift enough.”

“Nonsense,” Carolyn brushed aside. “What would happen if word got out that Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes didn’t bring her mother a present? All of Collinsport would collapse.” She laughed as she sat her suitcase down in the foyer and presented Elizabeth with the gift. “Besides, I like to keep Uncle Roger’s tradition going. Don’t you remember how he’d always come home with a present for me?”

Elizabeth started to unwrap the package. “It’s almost too pretty to open.”

“I hope you like it. The minute I saw it in the store window, I thought of you.”

“Oh darling, it’s lovely.” Elizabeth had opened the box to reveal a stunning brooch in the shape of a violet.

“I could never forget your favorite flower,” Carolyn enthused, taking the brooch and pinning it to her mother’s blouse. “There, now what’s the big emergency that required me to drive all the way from Bangor?”

Elizabeth’s gaze dropped and she gestured forward. “Let’s talk in the drawing-room. Mrs. Johnson is already preparing some tea.”

Carolyn noticed the shift in her mother’s mood. Something was definitely troubling her and it was beginning to make Carolyn nervous. She took off her coat and laid it beside the telephone on the table beside the staircase. “Where’s Uncle Roger?” she asked before following her mother into the drawing-room.

“He’s at the shipyards,” Elizabeth answered, taking a seat on the sofa. “You’ll see him later.”

“He’s alright, isn’t he? I mean, nothing’s wrong with him or you?”

“No, darling. It’s nothing like that. What I have to talk to you about is something your uncle Roger would dismiss.”

Carolyn sat down beside the fireplace where the warmth of the crackling flames seemed to offset the sudden chill she felt trickling down her spine. “If it’s something Uncle Roger might dismiss, then it must be something supernatural.” Now her curiosity was well and truly piqued.

“Yes, I...” Elizabeth hesitated to confirm her daughter’s suspicion. “I think it is.”

Before she could elaborate, Mrs. Johnson turned the corner and entered the drawing-room with a silver tray upon which were two teacups, a piping hot pot of tea, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a pair of freshly ironed cloth napkins. “Miss Carolyn!” she exclaimed, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hello, Mrs. Johnson.” Carolyn hopped up to help place the tray down on a table. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Nothing much to complain about, except these old knees which have been acting up something fierce. I just don’t like this time of the year, I just don’t like it. That wind goes right through me and when I’ve finished cleaning upstairs, I can barely make it downstairs, and then...”

Elizabeth cut in, “Mrs. Johnson, Carolyn, and I have a lot of catching up to do. If you’d like, you can take the rest of the day off.”

“The day off?” The housekeeper appeared scandalized. “Oh, I couldn’t do that. There’s too much to be done today. And, if I don’t get to it today, that’ll be extra to do tomorrow.”

“Alright then, thank you for the tea. And, Mrs. Johnson? Would you close the doors on your way out?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Johnson dutifully obeyed, making her way out of the room and shutting the doors firmly behind her.

After a long moment, Carolyn threw her head back and burst out laughing. “I see nothing’s changed around here.”

Elizabeth, despite her worries, could not help but smile. “If there’s one constant you can depend on at Collinwood, it’s Mrs. Johnson.”

Carolyn reached for the teapot, pouring herself and her mother a cup. “Now that we’re alone, what’s been going on that’s upset you so?”

Ignoring the tea, Elizabeth clasped her hands together as she stood up and began to slowly pace the room. “Carolyn, I know it sounds silly, but I’ve been experiencing a dream. A terrible, horrible nightmare every night for a week.”

“A dream?” Carolyn tensed. Dreams and her family had a rocky history, to say the least.

“I can’t begin to understand what’s triggered them,” Elizabeth continued, her tone teetering between panic and confusion. “It isn’t as if anything awful has happened. On the contrary, things have been quite well.”

“Mother, you don’t have to convince me,” Carolyn assured her. She placed her teacup back on the tray and got back up on her feet. “Tell me, what happened in this nightmare? If you talk about it, I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

Elizabeth felt strengthened by the comforting touch of Carolyn’s hands on her shoulders. “You’re right,” she agreed. Turning to face her daughter, Elizabeth related the dream from beginning to end, describing her experience down to the smallest detail. Once she had finished, Elizabeth almost felt relieved to have shared the burden she had carried for the past seven days. Carolyn’s reaction, however, left her feeling more worried than ever before. “Carolyn, darling, what are you thinking? Have I gone mad getting myself worked up over a dream?”

“No, mother,” Carolyn answered, chewing her bottom lip as she contemplated the nightmare. “I’m not a dream analyst by any means, but I think you’re right to be concerned.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes.” Carolyn nodded, adding, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Professor Stokes about this. Peculiar dreams are right up his alley.”

“Perhaps I should have called him in the first place? Oh, I wouldn’t have even bothered you if Barnabas and Julia were still here.”

“Have you heard from them?”

“No.” Elizabeth took a step toward the window and gazed out at the view overlooking the sea. How many times had she stood in this very spot in contemplation? It had never offered her the slightest answer to a question that plagued her mind. Still, she could not stop the habit of a lifetime. “I hope they’re both well.” She sighed, “They left in such a hurry that I barely had a chance to say goodbye.”

Carolyn was not in the least bit surprised. “Did they say what the rush was all about?” She held up her hand and shook her head, adding, “Let me guess? They either wouldn’t tell you or, if they did, it has something to do with tracking down some elusive tome.”

Hearing that allowed a soft smile to brighten Elizabeth’s features. “According to Barnabas, he and Julia decided they both wanted to enjoy some time away from Collinsport.”

“Interesting.” Carolyn mulled the thought over. She had learned a long time ago that Julia and Barnabas never did anything without an ulterior motive. Still, there were more pressing matters to attend to. “What about Quentin?”

Elizabeth sighed, “I received a letter from him about a month ago. He sounded well and happy. I only hope he finds what he’s looking for.”

Quentin Collins, their rakish, debonair cousin, had departed Collinsport about a month before Julia and Barnabas. He cited no reason except for a vague need to stretch his legs beyond the confines of Collinsport. His knowledge of the occult would have been a great help at a time like this.

“We’ve all gone and left you in the lurch, haven’t we?” Carolyn observed, the topic causing the mood to turn somber. As only she could, Carolyn turned on a dime and lit up the room with her smile. “Well, now that I’m here maybe you’ll have a good night’s sleep tonight.”

“I hope so. I don’t know who the woman in that dream is, but I feel like I have to help her. Whoever she is, I have to. Carolyn, I must.”

“Alright, mother.” Knowing how much the dream distressed Elizabeth hurt Carolyn deeply. Her mother had endured so much pain and loss over the years that she more than deserved to live a life free of worry. “We’ll find a way — I promise.”

That seemed to placate Elizabeth whose steely resolve emerged as she turned to face her daughter. “Until we know for certain that my nightmares are something to be concerned about, I don’t want a word of this mentioned to Roger.”

“Mother, I’m sure Uncle Roger would understand.”

“I highly doubt that. I know your uncle too well. He would declare that I was behaving hysterically over nothing.” She stepped back toward the sofa, her tone more determined as she added, “Don’t forget how I was committed to Windcliff while Roger was married to Cassandra.”

“How could I forget?” Carolyn vividly recalled her mother’s death obsession during the summer of 1968. Terrifying didn’t do justice in describing Elizabeth’s state of mind, or the aftermath in which the prediction of her own demise had turned out to be true. The spell had only been broken through her mother’s sheer force of will and love for her. “But mother, this is completely different.”

Elizabeth turned, fixing her daughter with a soft, imploring gaze. “Carolyn, please? Do this one thing for me.”

“All right, mother,” Carolyn relented. “I won’t mention anything to Uncle Roger. But I’d better try and reach Professor Stokes. He’s notoriously difficult to get a hold of on the weekend.” She hurried over to the telephone and picked up the receiver to talk to the operator.

Nearby, Elizabeth watched her daughter place the call. She knew she should have felt relieved to unburden herself. But the woman in her dream continued to plague her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still see those white hands reaching out of the darkness and hear that far away voice crying out, “Help me!”

*****

Roger Collins had one thing on his mind when he returned home to Collinwood that evening: a glass of brandy. One in the morning and one in the evening, a habit spanning nearly a lifetime. As he relished the thought of downing the oak nuances of whiskey mixed with the softness of sweet wine, he drove his Plymouth Barracuda along the estate’s driveway and toward the garage. Once there, Roger found himself taken aback to notice Carolyn’s car parked inside.

A wry smile etched itself across Roger’s handsome features. His niece’s latest fascination must have lost its charm, otherwise, he simply could not imagine what had brought her home early. Maneuvering his automobile beside Carolyn’s, Roger turned off the motor, reached for his briefcase and sauntered toward the house. He huddled into his coat as a brisk wind rattled through the trees on the estate’s grounds. Now, Roger longed for a nice, warm fire to go along with that coveted snifter of brandy.

Stepping inside Collinwood, he caught sight of a vivid splash of color as Carolyn, wearing a red blouse with a brightly speckled skirt, was finishing up a telephone call in the foyer.

“Kitten,” he said, using his pet-name for her. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Carolyn replaced the receiver and turned to greet him with a beaming smile. “Uncle Roger, you’re not happy to see me?”

“Nothing could be further from the truth, my dear.” He bridged the gap between them and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I thought you would be away for at least another month.”

“I would of been but a girl gets kind of lonely for home sometimes,” she playfully replied, taking care not to reveal the true reason for her visit.

“Come now, I simply cannot imagine you of all people feeling lonesome. Especially in Bangor. The last time we spoke, I distinctly remember you telling me about the line of young men trying to catch your attention.”

Carolyn laughed, “They’ll just have to live with broken hearts because I’m far too busy to deal with them.”

Roger made a slightly disapproving sound as he fixed her with a withering gaze. “Carolyn, of the hundreds of things you could be doing it will baffle me to my dying day why you chose to pursue a lot of mumbo jumbo with Professor Stokes.”

“Uncle Roger,” Carolyn sighed, readying herself for an argument. “We discussed all of this months ago. You might not want to admit it but too much has happened to our family for one of us not to look into it.”

To be truthful with herself, Carolyn never imagined taking a course in parapsychology. She would have preferred being happily married, but fate would have it for her to suffer sadness like the rest of her family. And that had been one of the reasons she sought out Professor Stokes. Carolyn simply wanted answers. What had doomed the Collins family to be plagued by the supernatural? So, she had taken it upon herself to uncover the truth and she did not need anyone’s approval to do so.

“Yes, yes,” Roger chided her. “Your last diatribe on the subject still haunts my dreams at night.”

Carolyn froze. If only her uncle realized how much that statement hit home. Her mother had been right; telling Roger about her recurring nightmare would have resulted in an enormous waste of time. Carolyn pasted on her most forgiving smile and said, “Uncle Roger, I didn’t come all the way home to fight. I missed you and mother, and I want us to spend a few days together...” She paused, and then added meaningfully, ”...without arguing.”

Roger smiled. He always liked Carolyn. Next to her mother, she was the only person in the world who could match him on the battlefield. “All right, Kitten,” he conceded, “we’ll hold a ceasefire for the duration of your most welcome of visits.”

Offering a playful curtsy, Carolyn giggled like a teenager as she helped her uncle out of his coat while he set his briefcase aside. “How has mother been?” she asked, following Roger into the drawing-room.

“Haven’t you asked her yourself?” Roger made a beeline for the drinks cabinet and began pouring himself a glass of his beloved brandy.

“Of course, but you know mother. She’s not going to tell me if something’s wrong.” Carolyn tread carefully, attempting to learn if her uncle had noticed anything different about his sister without giving away her reason for inquiring.

“She’s been happy as a lark,” Roger replied, swirling his drink around the glass. “That is when I have a chance to see her. She’s usually flitting in and out of the house these days. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Carolyn pretended to shrug the topic off. “I was worried she might be lonely.”

Roger took a satisfying drink and said, “Rest assured, Liz is doing well. If she wasn’t, I would be the first to know. Where is your mother this evening?”

“Oh, she’s upstairs getting ready for dinner,” Carolyn replied. “She thought it would be nice to go into town.”

“And avoid one of Mrs. Johnson’s boiled dinners?”

Carolyn laughed, “Why don’t you join us?”

“Thank you, Kitten. But I would prefer to put my feet up and relax by the fire. You know there’s the most awful chill in the air.”

“You’re beginning to sound like Mrs. Johnson,” Carolyn teased.

Roger rolled his eyes. “Heaven forbid.”

Carolyn gave her uncle an affectionate pat on the shoulder as he sank down into the sofa. “I’d better get myself dolled up before mother comes down. I’ll pop in and see you when we get back.” She scampered out of the drawing-room and hurried upstairs leaving her uncle to ponder over his sifter.

*****

Having changed into a more elegant floral-print gown, Carolyn sat at the vanity table in her bedroom and brushed her hair. Her mind remained focus on her mother’s nightmare, which she tried to unravel the meaning of. It was incredibly detailed, so much so that Carolyn could almost picture the events playing out before her eyes. She gave an involuntary shiver at the thought of witnessing someone plunging to their death. There were many legends surrounding Widows’ Hill. The most prevalent being the one revolving around Josette Collins, who leaped to her death in 1796. A governess working for the Collins family had followed sometime afterward, with a third prophesied to join them.

Carolyn was certain it wasn’t Josette’s ghost contacting her mother. Perhaps it was the other lost soul? Frustratingly, they knew so little about the victims of the hill. Just another reason why Carolyn hoped her research would prove fruitful. Thankfully, she had managed to leave a message for Professor Stokes, who returned her call before Roger returned home. Stokes proved to be intrigued and urged her to keep a close eye on Elizabeth and report any unusual activity. That had done little to assuage Carolyn’s concerns. If her mother’s nightmare proved to be nothing, then fine. But, what if something unnatural was to blame? She could only hope Stokes would be able to arrive in time to help them.

As Carolyn finished primping, she set her brush down and checked her appearance in the mirror. She felt an abrupt chill and rubbed her harms to warm herself. Where did that breeze come from? she wondered, turning around to check that her window was firmly latched. Reassured a gust of wind hadn’t blown it open, Carolyn felt the icy sensation pass as if it never occurred at all. Mother’s dream is getting to me, she decided, only to fret over how badly it was effecting Elizabeth too. Deciding it was past time to check and see if her mother was ready to leave, Carolyn straightened and began to stand... only to stop as she felt icy fingertips brushing her cheek. The touch felt... familiar.

“Who’s there?” she asked shakily.

Carolyn remembered Professor Stokes’ teachings, clearing her thoughts and focusing on allowing the presence to contact her. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Did you cause my mother to have those dreams?” Just for a second, an image flashed within her mind. In an instant, she recognized the cliff of Widows’ Hill. “Who are you? Please, tell me how I can help you.”

The presence swept by her with such force that Carolyn lost her concentration. Her eyes blinked open and she steadied herself, frustrated over losing contact with the spirit. Then, she felt an odd tingling running along her spine. Sensing something new, Carolyn gasped, her eyes widening as she gazed back into the mirror, which had inexplicably frosted over. Slowly, words began to scrawl their way through the fog.

H E L P H E R

Carolyn screamed in horror...


	2. Chapter Two

_ This has been a night of terror at Collinwood. Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes has experienced firsthand the power fueling her mother’s recurring nightmare. A mysterious woman trapped within a void has reached out for help. Help that Elizabeth Collins Stoddard is determined to give. But will an experiment to reveal the source of the dream lead to even more destruction? _

** Chapter Two **

Elizabeth, having finished dressing for dinner, shot bolt upright from her own vanity table as she heard Carolyn’s scream echoing down the hall. She rushed from her bedroom and threw the door open to Carolyn’s where she found her daughter shivering with fright. “Carolyn!” she exclaimed, rushing to her side. “What happened?”

Her mother’s warmth dissipating the chill that surrounded her, Carolyn glanced back at the mirror and discovered both the words and the frost that accompanied them had vanished. “I saw it, mother,” she explained, her bottom lip quivering.

“What, darling?”

“In the mirror... it just fogged over and the words ‘help her’ appeared.” Recovering from her fright, Carolyn turned to face Elizabeth. “You were right, mother,” she said urgently. “Someone is trying to contact you through your dreams and now they’ve reached out to me.”

“But why... who could it be?”

“I don’t know.” Carolyn gave a shake of her head as frustration set in. “Thankfully, I managed to contact Professor Stokes earlier. He didn’t want to reach for a definitive conclusion until something substantial actually happened, and now it has.” She exhaled, fixing Elizabeth with an expression of regret. “I’m sorry I screamed, mother. You’d think I would be used to things like that.”

Elizabeth glanced away, a shadow of guilt passing over her features. “I should have never asked you to come home.”

“Why ever not? Mother, this experience is exactly what I want to learn more about. It gave me a scare, yes. But now we can actually do something.”

“Carolyn, I don’t understand how you can be frightened one minute and excited the next.”

Carolyn’s laughter was in stark contrast to her blood-curdling scream. “Oh mother, this is me you’re talking about.”

Elizabeth found her daughter’s change in attitude infectious and she could not help giving a soft chuckle of her own. “Yes, I am. I don’t know whether I should feel relieved or concerned that you’re handling this so well.” She glanced at Carolyn’s mirror, which appeared completely normal. Her mood became solemn once again. “I wish I knew what we could do to help her.” Elizabeth clarified, “The woman in my dream. She’s in terrible danger, I know she is.”

“We’ll figure it out, mother. I promise.” Carolyn embraced her mother. All the while, her mind whirled at the possibilities Collinwood’s latest haunting had to offer. “So, should we postpone our plans for tonight, or do you still feel like going into town?”

“I hadn’t even thought about it. I was much too worried about you, darling.” Elizabeth was startled as she heard footsteps running along the hallway outside of Carolyn’s bedroom. It was Roger, wearing a robe over his clothing and carrying an inevitable glass of brandy.

“Carolyn! Liz!” he exclaimed, stopping in the doorway. “What was that scream?”

“It’s alright, Uncle Roger.” Carolyn paused, glancing at her mother for a moment. This would be an excellent opportunity to tell Roger about Elizabeth’s dream as well as her own experience. However, as if she could read her mind, Elizabeth offered a slight shake of her head. “I...” she began, and quickly lied, “...it’s amazing how a spider can scare the wits out of me.”

“A spider?” Roger sounded incredulous before segueing into his trademark drollness. “Mrs. Johnson must be slipping in her duties. Perhaps you should have a word with her, Liz? A little less complaining and she might be a little more diligent, which might prevent the rest of us from being cocooned in the middle of the night.”

Elizabeth’s cool demeanor returned as she told her brother, “Roger if you insist on being distasteful, I suggest you take your sarcasm back to your room.”

Roger raised his glass in a toast to his sister before addressing his niece. “Carolyn, the next time you have a fright, please refrain from bringing the entire house down on our heads.” And, with that, he retreated back down the hallway.

Waiting until her uncle was out of earshot, Carolyn declared, “Oh mother, you should have let me tell him the truth.”

“That we’re being haunted again? No, I would rather wait for Professor Stokes to be here. His assessment would carry more weight with your uncle.”

“I’m not so sure.” Carolyn sighed, “Okay, I’ll go along with it, mother. But I don’t think keeping Uncle Roger in the dark is the right thing to do. What if something happens to him as it did with me? The least we should do is prepare him.”

“Darling, I know your uncle far too well. Even if something were to happen, he would only make himself believe it was a figment of his imagination.”

Carolyn remained skeptical but she relented, “Alright, let’s not argue about it. We’ve got enough to deal with.” Once again, her mood turned on a dime. “Let’s get out of here. We had plans and I’m not going to let anything spoil them.”

Elizabeth straightened with a sigh, “I don’t see how things could get any worse.”

“Famous last words, mother.”

“Oh, no.” Elizabeth began to fret again.

“I’m only teasing.” Carolyn reached for her clutch purse with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll call Professor Stokes in the morning, and between the two of us, I’m sure we’ll figure this all out.” She gently led her mother out of the room, turning off the light and closing the door.

Silence fell over Carolyn’s darkened room. Then, as if ghostly fingers stroked them, the curtains fluttered and a presence ruffled the bold yellow blanket covering the bed. All grew quiet again until a sharp crack! pierced the stillness. In a corner of the mirror on Carolyn’s vanity table, a hairline fracture appeared before growing like a spiderweb to envelop the surface. Within the cracks, the indistinct figure of a woman appeared, her long, dark hair floating around her head as if she was underwater. She raised her palms and pressed them against the glass before vanishing like the delicate smoke from an extinguished candle.

*****

Roger polished off his second brandy for the night before settling into bed. Having retrieved a book from the library, he only wanted to abolish thoughts of the fishing fleet and the cannery and free his mind of anything having to do with the Collins family’s business for tonight. Instead of concentrating on Shakespearean prose, he found his mind wandering to Carolyn’s unexpected visit, her questions concerning Elizabeth, and her ear-piercing scream.

Something was going on between his sister and his niece. But, whatever that something was, Roger decided to let the two of them hash it out and keep to himself. It might have seemed as if he did not care, and Roger tended to give that impression when it came to most matters. However, life at Collinwood had been wonderfully peaceful of late and whatever little drama had stirred itself up could be left in someone else’s hands. Simply put, Roger could not be bothered.

His eyelids becoming heavier, he found the text before him blurring as sleep eventually marked its claim upon him. Soon, Roger tumbled into a dream. His bedroom darkened while multicolored lights strobed around him, drawing him into a psychedelic nightmare. Roger felt himself rising from the bed even as his body remained still. Panic gripped him as he stepped into the unknown darkness where his door should have been.

Suddenly, he was outside and the landscape around him looked as if it had been painted by an artist dabbling in surrealism. The sky appeared in a near-blinding garish red, while the distinct outcropping and solitary tree of Widows’ Hill left no doubt to Roger’s location. He glanced around, finding nothing but shadows and darkness greeting him at every turn. “Hello?” he heard himself call out. “Is anyone there? Answer me...”

Roger’s eyes widened as the ground opened up and a figure grew like a blossoming flower into the form of a woman. Her back turned to him, all Roger could discern was her long, dark hair and the crimson dress she wore. She teetered on the edge of the cliff and Roger no longer feared for himself but for the woman, whose despair washed over him like the crashing waves against the rocks far below.

“Step away from the edge,” he gently urged her. “Please, you have no idea how dangerous this place can be. What are you doing here? Move toward me and I can help you.”

When the figure failed to react, Roger reached out toward her on instinct. Somewhere deep down inside, he knew it was imperative that he help this poor woman. “I’m almost there,” he told her, offering her encouragement. “Let me take your arm and we’ll go back to Collinwood together...”

Just as he was about to brush her sleeve with his hand, the woman plunged over the edge of the cliff. Roger sank to his knees as he could only watch as she disappeared into the encroaching darkness which swallowed up the red skyline until there was nothing but an empty void. Roger clenched his fists and pressed them to his forehead, murmuring to himself, “Why couldn’t I save her?”

He sensed a presence behind him and he glanced up and back in swift succession. Roger inhaled sharply as two pale hands came into focus. The hands appeared palms upward, silently pleading. “I tried... I tried to save you,” he stammered, fearful those ghostly hands might seek retribution for his failure. “What are you going to do to me?”

To Roger’s surprise, those small hands did nothing. He could feel kindness emanating from them, no malice. Almost relaxing, he startled awake as the woman’s scream of “Help me!” echoed in his ears.

His book fell from his lap with a palpable thud, causing Roger to jump in his bed. He retrieved the tome with shaking hands, his eyes darting from left to right while sweat peppered his brow. His heart thundered as the temperature in the room dropped to frigid levels. The flames in the fireplace crackled, which was completely at odds with the fact Roger could see his own breath.

He stumbled out of bed, leaving the book behind as reached for the brandy snifter. It slipped from his trembling fingers, smashing into pieces on the floor. He threw open his window, taking in a great lungful of salty air which was considerably warmer than the current temperature in the room. Slowly, Roger’s mind cleared and he began the process of convincing himself his experience had only been a dream. An incredibly vivid one but a dream nonetheless. He shook his head in an effort to dislodge the vision which persisted before his eyes like the after-image from the flash of a camera.

Roger chided himself for such an extreme reaction to a nightmare. He could only imagine what Liz and Carolyn would have thought if they could have seen him in such a state. And yet... it had seemed so real...

Deciding he needed something stronger than brandy, Roger closed the window, stepped over the shards of his broken glass, and headed out of his room. The moment he left, the same invisible presence that had invaded Carolyn’s bedroom made its way through Roger’s. It brushed aside the curtains with more force than the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees outside. Slowly, one of the panes of glass frosted over, and the impression of a solitary handprint appeared.

*****

Collinsport never offered much in the realm of nightlife entertainment. There was a small movie theater, a couple of restaurants, and of course the ever-present Blue Whale bar. Elizabeth and Carolyn chose the nicer of the two restaurants — Bennett’s Wharf — and partook in an evening of fine wine and seafood. Carolyn, using her wit and humor, managed to distract her mother from the topic of nightmares and unsettling words appearing from the ether. Even as she entertained Elizabeth with tales of college life in Bangor, Carolyn’s mind raced as she tried to piece together why another haunting was occurring.

A restless spirit connected with Widows’ Hill opened up a world of possibilities. Carolyn had no doubt that the presence attempting to contact them was one of the many souls who had lost their lives on that forsaken cliff. But why now? And who could it be? Collinwood’s library might hold the answer as it held several accounts on the Legend of the Widows, each contradictory in true Collins fashion. However, the names remained the same and one of them could be their mystery ghost.

As she and Elizabeth finished dinner, Carolyn marveled over her mother’s transformation into a social butterfly. People of all walks of life recognized Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, who greeted everyone who stopped by their table with her down to earth charm. It was a far cry from the woman who had spent eighteen years of her life as a recluse. Even after her mother tested the waters of the outside world, it had taken a few years before she became completely at ease leaving the estate. Elizabeth fairly glowed, full of the life denied to her for so long. Which made Carolyn’s determination to uncover the truth about her mother’s disturbing nightmare that much stronger.

“That was wonderful, mother.” Stepping outside of the restaurant, Carolyn hooked her arm with her mother’s and led her toward Elizabeth’s car. The brisk night air rich with the smell of the ocean sent Carolyn huddling into her coat.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, darling. Thank you for convincing me to get out for a little while.” Elizabeth opened her stylish purse to retrieve her car keys. “Would you like to drive?” She felt a yearning to relax and gaze at the stars painted across the canvas of a cloudless sky.

“Are you sure you trust me?” Carolyn laughed, accepting the keys.

“Of course I...” Elizabeth stopped short. Across the street, through villagers going about their business, she caught a glimpse of a man — a man she had not laid eyes on in almost twenty-five years. Her heart hammered against her chest and she felt as if someone had stolen her breath away. Elizabeth blinked and then he was gone, leaving her visibly shaken.

“Mother, what’s wrong?”

Although it was only a moment, time stood still and it took an effort for Elizabeth to recognize Carolyn’s voice. “N-nothing...” she stammered, clearly unsettled and trying her best to pull herself together.

But Carolyn was not going to drop the matter. “Mother, something’s obviously upset you and I want to know what it is.”

“Carolyn, please!” Elizabeth regretted the force which strengthened her words. She glanced away, her hands trembling over the shock. Before she realized what had happened, her purse slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground.

Carolyn knelt down to retrieve her mother’s purse, asking seriously, “Did you see a ghost? Because you’re white as a sheet.”

Elizabeth found herself at a loss for words. She felt as if someone had walked over her grave, but she refrained from expressing that to Carolyn. Instead, she apologized, “I’m sorry, darling.” She added softly, “It really wasn’t anything important.”

Not believing a word of it, Carolyn decided not to pressure her mother... for the time being. “If you say so.” She scanned the people moving along the other side of the street but failed to notice anything or anyone out of place. “Come on,” she urged, “let’s go home.”

While Carolyn guided her over to the car, Elizabeth tossed a surreptitious glance over her shoulder. Her heart continued to thunder, although there was no sign of the face she never thought she would see again.

*****

Returning to Collinwood, the drive home could only be described as awkward. Carolyn’s attempted small talk was met with occasional acknowledgments but mostly silence. It was clear something had rattled her mother greatly, which made Carolyn wish she had the gift of reading thoughts instead of receiving precognitive visions and dreams throughout her life. She even brought up the subject of Willie Loomis, who had become caretaker of the Old House — the original Collinwood — since Barnabas and Julia left on their impromptu trip. But Elizabeth’s mind was a million miles away.

Carolyn noticed that a few lights were still illuminating the stained glass windows inside of Collinwood. “Uncle Roger must be waiting up,” she decided, easing along the driveway and parking in the garage. She stepped out of the car and, expecting her mother to follow suit, found Elizabeth sitting still and staring straight ahead. “Mother,” Carolyn said loudly, “we’re home.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth snapped out of her trance. “We are, aren’t we?” She collected herself and joined her daughter, feigning complete normality. It was an art she had mastered many years ago. She glanced at her watch. “Roger’s usually asleep by this time,” she noted, confirming she had heard Carolyn after all.

“But it’s the start of the weekend,” Carolyn pointed out. “I’ve never known Uncle Roger to go to bed early on a Friday.” That was an understatement. She was genuinely surprised he hadn’t decided to go out of town. As she waited for her mother to join her, they walked together up to the house.

Carolyn sensed that something wasn’t quite right. She could feel it lurking in the shadows, like an animal preparing to strike. Had there been another disturbance like the one she experienced? The thought quickened her pulse and she had to tamp down the urge to race ahead of Elizabeth, who fished out the door key from her purse. Carolyn could not help but notice her mother’s hand slightly trembling. Another concern for another time. She definitely was not about to let Elizabeth off the hook for tonight’s earlier incident.

Elizabeth opened the front door and she and Carolyn stepped inside the foyer. The lights were on and one could be seen spilling out from beneath the closed drawing-room doors. “Roger?” Elizabeth called out. “Carolyn and I are home. Roger?”

“Oh, Mrs. Stoddard!” From the doorway beneath the landing, Mrs. Johnson appeared dressed for bed and wearing a blue flannel robe. Her dark hair, usually pinned in a bun, was braided and draped over one of her shoulders. She held a palm to her chest as she caught her breath. “Thank heavens you’re back. I don’t know what’s gotten into Mr. Collins. He locked himself in the drawing-room shortly after you left.”

Elizabeth glanced between Carolyn and Mrs. Johnson before asking, “Did he say why?”

“No.” Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “Now I’m not one to talk behind other folks’ backs, but he’s been making the worst racket I’ve ever heard. He must be in there drinking every bottle of liquor in the house. He just yelled and laughed at me when I knocked and tried to bring him some coffee.”

Elizabeth fumed. “We’ll see about that.” Reaching into her purse, she produced a key with a unique engraving. She unlocked the drawing-room doors to reveal her brother splayed out on the sofa, half-awake, and clutching a bottle of whiskey to his chest. “Roger!” Elizabeth exploded, any trace of the fidgeting woman she had become erased in an instant. “This is disgraceful.”

“Liz?” Roger slurred, barely acknowledging his sister. “Disgraceful? Me? Don’t be absurd. Why don’t you sit down and enjoy a drink with me?”

“I believe you’ve had quite enough for both of us.” She snatched the bottle from Roger’s grasp and handed it to Carolyn.

“Uncle Roger, you’re plastered,” Carolyn stated the obvious, unable to suppress a smile. It was a rare sight to see him in a disheveled state. She probably would have teased and cajoled her uncle more if she did not have the nagging feeling something in the house had driven him to binge drinking. “What brought this on?”

Roger made a grand gesture with one of his arms, stating loudly, “Why does there have to be a reason, kitten? Can’t I simply enjoy the life of a Collins?”

Hearing that only served to infuriate Elizabeth that much more. “A true Collins doesn’t behave like this,” she stated, walking over to the cellarette and discovering several half-empty bottles of alcohol.

Mrs. Johnson stepped forward and asked softly, “Should I bring in the coffee, Mrs. Stoddard?”

“Coffee?!” Roger fairly spat out the word like a curse. “At this time of night? I want oblivion and you have no right to deprive me of it.”

It did not surprise Carolyn in the least that her uncle managed to sound petulant and eloquent at the same time. “Uncle Roger, you can’t spend the night drinking your troubles away,” she tried to reason with him.

“Who said I was troubled?”

“Well, something must be bothering you because I haven’t seen you take on like this since you were arguing with David.”

The mention of David brought a sobering atmosphere to the room. Collinwood’s foundations would be reverberating for years to come thanks to the father and son rows that had taken place before David’s departure.

Elizabeth took advantage of the momentary silence and suggested, “Mrs. Johnson, please help Mr. Collins up to his room.”

Even in his inebriated state, Roger reacted violently over the mention of his bedroom. “No, not back there,” he insisted, “I don’t want to have that dream again...”

“Dream?” Carolyn questioned, the topic confirming her suspicion that something had indeed happened while she and her mother were away. “Uncle Roger, what dream?”

“Widows’ Hill... a woman... I couldn’t help her...”

Elizabeth and Carolyn exchanged knowing glances, but before either one of them could acknowledge Roger’s account, Mrs. Johnson gasped, “A dream?” She shivered and closed her fists tightly on the front of her robe. “What could it mean?”

“Nothing, Mrs. Johnson,” an exasperated Elizabeth dismissed the subject. The last thing she needed was for the superstitious housekeeper to dissolve into a fit of hysterics. “As you pointed out, Mr. Collins has had far too much to drink and now he’s babbling.” She turned to Carolyn and said, “Help me get him upstairs.”

Mrs. Johnson, despite her reservations, knew her duty and quickly moved to lend Carolyn a hand. Together, they managed to haul Roger up from the sofa and onto his feet. Roger, for his part, began to recite loudly, “To sleep, perchance to dream — ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause...”

“Uncle Roger, leave it to you to quote Shakespeare when you’re sauced out of your mind,” Carolyn quipped as she and Mrs. Johnson half-walked, half-dragged him out into the foyer and toward the staircase.

Elizabeth stoically followed, gaining ground on the landing and opening the door for Mrs. Johnson and Carolyn to lead Roger into the second-floor hallway. She made her way to Roger’s room to find the door ajar and within a discarded book on the floor. Elizabeth retrieved the tome as the other two women deposited Roger onto the bed.

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Carolyn groaned, relieved to have the dead weight lifted from her shoulders.

Mrs. Johnson heaved an even more expressive gasp of relief. “Oh, oh my... I didn’t think we were going to make it...

Elizabeth sighed, “I’m sorry I troubled you both.” She placed the book on a nightstand before noticing a faint handprint on Roger’s bedroom window. Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat at the sight. She quickly closed the curtains before Mrs. Johnson could notice it. “He’s going to be unbearable tomorrow,” she said, turning her attention back to her brother, who had already fallen into a deep sleep, snoring like a foghorn.

“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Stoddard — I’ll fix Mr. Roger.” Mrs. Johnson stepped forward, one hand still holding tightly to her robe. “My sister’s hangover remedy stopped her husband from ever taking another sip of alcohol again.”

“Good.” The idea suited Elizabeth just fine. However, her own experience of the nightmare made her more sympathetic to her brother’s plight than she cared to admit. “Now, let’s leave Mr. Collins to sleep it off.” She started to lead Mrs. Johnson and Carolyn toward the door, only for the housekeeper to pause and offer a quick look at her fretfully.

“Oh, but I can’t stop thinking about that dream Mr. Collins mentioned...”

Elizabeth, comforting and calm, remeasured her, “Mrs. Johnson, I thought we had already settled that. If there was anything to worry about, don’t you think I would tell you?”

“I suppose you’re right. But I doubt I catch a wink of sleep tonight.”

“Well, why don’t you try? I’m sure you’ll be asleep in no time.”

“If you say so, Mrs. Stoddard.”

Elizabeth rested her hands on Mrs. Johnson’s shoulders, coaxing her back into the hall. “I do. Now, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Carolyn marveled over her mother’s natural ability to manage people. She knew how concerned Elizabeth truly was, but there wasn’t a shred of indication that her mother had a care in the world. She turned out the light and closed the door as the three of them stepped out into the hall. Elizabeth sent Mrs. Johnson on her way and as soon as the housekeeper had returned downstairs, Carolyn felt free to speak on the night’s events.

“Have I mentioned how wonderful you are, mother?”

“What’s brought this on?”

“Oh, nothing. I just thought I should remind you.”

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, darling.” Elizabeth grew somber. “Did you see the handprint on Roger’s window?”

“Yes,” Carolyn confirmed. “All three of us have experienced contact of some kind. The activity’s increasing, which means the source of the haunting — which I have no doubt this is — is growing more powerful.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Could it become dangerous?”

“Anything’s possible, mother. I’m just glad Professor Stokes will be here tomorrow. He knows far more about this than I do.”

“Well, I must say I am very impressed with what you’ve learned so far.”

“Thanks, but I wish I knew what the connection between the dreams and Widows’ Hill could be.” Carolyn grew pensive, a shadow darkening her beautiful features. “Someone wants our help... a woman... but so many have died there...” She trailed off, feeling a deep sadness welling up inside of her.

As if she could read her daughter’s mind, Elizabeth said softly, “You’re thinking about Jeb?”

“Yes,” Carolyn whispered. Her husband, Jeb Hawkes, had met his death on the cliff. It had almost been a year and the emotional scar on her heart remained fresh and sore. Barely married, the two of them were torn apart one horrible night and Carolyn never allowed herself to properly grieve. “Please, let’s not talk about him.”

“Alright, darling,” Elizabeth said, brushing Carolyn’s hair back from her face. “We won’t.” It hurt her deeply to see her daughter upset.

Carolyn, her voice breaking a little, brought the topic back around to the identity of the woman in the dream. “Besides Josette, have there been any other female family members to die there?”

Elizabeth’s response was swift as she knew the stories and legends all too well. “No.” With one arm around Carolyn’s shoulder, she walked her daughter to her room. “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility. Unfortunately, the history books aren’t very reliable.”

“I’d still like to read up on them,” Carolyn insisted, opening her bedroom door. “If we can narrow it down, maybe we can find a connection and understand why we’re being targeted —” She turned on the light and stopped short, instinctively covering her mouth to stifle a gasp of shock. “Mother!”

Elizabeth grasped Carolyn’s shoulders tightly as she followed her gaze to the vanity mirror, which was cracked from top to bottom. “What happened? How? What does it mean?” Too many questions vied for prominence until Elizabeth could no longer give voice to them.

“It’s like I said,” Carolyn’s tone took on a delicate, tremulous quality, “the activity’s spiking.” She broke away from her mother to rummage in the wardrobe for a sheet, which she promptly flung over the damaged mirror to hide it. “Mrs. Johnson won’t like my idea of redecorating, but it’ll have to do.”

“Carolyn, don’t joke at a time like this.”

“Believe me, mother, I’m taking this very seriously.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want you sleeping in here tonight. You can stay in David’s room or —”

Carolyn broke in, “I plan to spend the night plundering the library.” She clasped Elizabeth’s hands, adding, “Mother, you told me you felt compelled to help the woman in your nightmare. I’m just as determined to find out what’s causing all of this to happen.” She coaxed Elizabeth out of the room and back into the hallway. “Now that we’ve shared experiences, I don’t think our ghost will try anything else... at least, not tonight.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it wanted to be noticed and acknowledged, and now that it’s got our attention, I’m sure it knows we’re going to try and help.” Carolyn managed a small smile and offered her mother a little more reassurance, “You probably won’t even have that dream again.”

Elizabeth was not convinced, however, she put on a brave face for her daughter. “Would you like for me to stay up with you?” she asked gently.

“Don’t be silly, mother. I’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve had more than enough to deal with. You deserve a good night’s sleep.”

“I doubt I’ll get any.”

“Try for me?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Elizabeth agreed and noted, “You’re getting rather well at making everything seem all right.”

“I learned from the best.” Carolyn kissed her mother on the cheek and then gave her a warm hug. “Mother, I promise — we will figure this out.”

“I believe you, darling. If you need me...”

Carolyn finished for her, “...I know where to find you.”

They bid each other goodnight and Elizabeth watched Carolyn remove her heels and sling them back over her shoulder as she headed downstairs. She regretted summoning Carolyn back to Collinwood and chided herself for not seeking Professor Stokes’ help herself. Too much was happening, too much that could not be explained. And then there was him. That man staring at her from among the crowd. Seeing his face — even momentarily — after all this time left her feeling weak. Elizabeth would have liked nothing more than to pretend it was a figment of her imagination. But it had been all too real. He looked the same, the same as he had on that last day. She trembled at the memory and rubbed her arms as if chilled. Elizabeth’s heart grew heavy with the burden of guilt. Yes, she understood why Roger found solace in drinking. For her, it would be different. She had the sedatives Julia had prescribed to help her cope. Tonight, she would need more than one to ease her to sleep.

*****

The morning light pierced through the stained glass window on the landing overlooking Collinwood’s foyer. Mrs. Johnson busied herself around the house attending to her normal duties. Although she felt exhausted from a lack of sleep, she swept through the house like a whirling dervish taking the greatest care cleaning the inhabited areas of Collinwood. Troubled by the mention of frightening dreams, she vividly recalled the terror of being held in the grip of a recurring nightmare a few years ago. If that was starting again, Mrs. Johnson felt certain she could not endure another experience like that. Her heart could only take so much.

Most folks in Collinsport would have labeled her as ‘crazy’ for working at Collinwood. And there were moments in those early days when she questioned her own sanity for taking the job as a housekeeper. But she had grown to love the Collins family as if they were her own, and Collinwood, with all the baggage that came with it, had become her home.

Her musings were interrupted when she noticed a light on inside the library. She distinctly remembered turning it off last night. Pushing open the door, Mrs. Johnson discovered a pile of books strewn around the room, and Carolyn fast asleep in a Louis XV throne chair. “Oh, Miss Carolyn,” she gasped in surprise.

Carolyn’s eyes fluttered open and she groaned, “Mrs. Johnson?” She blinked herself awake and gave an almighty stretch to iron out her cramped muscles. “Is it morning already?”

“Don’t tell me you spent all night in here reading?” Mrs. Johnson waved her ever-present feather duster in admonishment.

Carolyn removed an open book from her lap and surveyed the tomes scattered around her. “I suppose I did,” she admitted with an air of nonchalance. “Have I missed breakfast?”

“No, not quite.” Mrs. Johnson began to gather the books Carolyn had read and returned to them to the shelves. “Your mother came down about half-an-hour ago.”

“How is she this morning?” Carolyn asked in a subtle attempt to gauge whether anything had happened during the night.

“It did not take much prompting for Mrs. Johnson to start gossiping. “Well, she’s awful quite. If you ask me, it seems like she’s got too many things on her mind. It

s a good thing you’re home, Miss Carolyn. You can help her forget whatever’s troubling her.”

Carolyn bit her lip. It was not just the recurring nightmare bothering her mother. Something had happened last night after dinner. The expression of utter shock on her mother’s face was an event rarely witnessed. And Carolyn wondered if she might have better luck prying the truth from Elizabeth this morning. Fat chance, she told herself. Carolyn and her mother were too much alike in the stubborn department. Still, if it had anything to do with recent events, then it would be vital information to share with...

“Oh!” Carolyn sat bolt upright as she remembered. “Has Professor Stokes arrived yet?”

Mrs. Johnson failed to conceal her surprise. “No one told me he was coming.” Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her chest. “I was right! Something is wrong. That professor wouldn’t be visiting for no reason.”

Carolyn sighed and brushed off the housekeeper’s concern. “Mrs. Johnson, he does have a reason and it’s something to do with school. We’re working on a project together and he mentioned stopping by to go over some notes.”

Mrs. Johnson remained unconvinced. “Well, all I know is that every time that man’s around it means trouble. It’s as if disaster follows him wherever he goes. And don’t tell me I’m imagining it, Miss Carolyn. Messing around with unnatural things the way that man does will only lead to trouble.”

“Oh, Mrs. Johnson, that’s simply not true.” Carolyn grew exasperated, and she did not want to start the day with an argument. She got up on her feet and started toward the door, only to pause as she remembered the state of her vanity table. “Have you cleaned my room yet?”

“Not yet. I was just about to head upstairs —”

Carolyn cut in, “I forgot to mention it last night, what with Uncle Roger’s drunken soliloquy and all, but I accidentally broke the mirror on my dressing table.”

“How on earth did you do a thing like that?” Mrs. Johnson sounded completely scandalized.

Carolyn shrugged. “I was reaching for my makeup bag and I knocked my hairbrush right into the glass.” She hated to lie about the incident but like her mother, she had learned a long time ago that Mrs. Johnson and the paranormal simply did not mix. And, as if to prove that point, the housekeeper embarked on a superstitious diatribe.

“Oh, you’ll have to be very careful from now on. That’s 7 years bad luck, Miss Carolyn!”

“I’m a Collins — I was born into bad luck.” Carolyn’s attempt at a joke did not go over well with Mrs. Johnson.

“Teasing can only make things worse. Like the good book says, ‘Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear’.”

The last thing Carolyn needed was a sermon. “Well, this corruptible gal is gracefully prancing off to enjoy breakfast with her mother,” she quipped before hurrying out of the room. 

******

Carolyn found her mother finishing up breakfast in the kitchen. She stood in the doorway for a moment just to observe Elizabeth, who sat quietly drinking her coffee and staring into the distance. There was nothing to indicate what her mother might be thinking and Carolyn decided to broach the subject of last night’s;s events with a light touch. “Good morning, mother,” she said, kissing Elizabeth’s cheek before depositing her heels on an empty chair.

“Good morning, darling.” Elizabeth took one look at her daughter, and like Mrs. Johnson before her, noted Carolyn was wearing her evening clothes. “Did you stay up all night?” she asked with a hint of disapproval.

“Yes,” Carolyn confirmed, grabbing a plate and depositing a stack of pancakes onto it. “Mrs. Johnson raked me over the coals. By the way, I told her I accidentally broke the mirror in my room. So, if she asks, just play along.”

Elizabeth nodded silently as Carolyn sat down across the table from her. She passed her a glass syrup boat before Carolyn had a chance to even request it. “I’m afraid I had another dreadful night,” she told her daughter.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry, mother. I was hoping this ordeal would be over for you.”

“Did you discover anything in your research?”

“Not much,” Carolyn admitted, wearing a dejected frown. “There are so many conflicting stories about the Widows. First, there were three women who died, and then there were two with a third prophesied death, and it kept getting murkier.”

“Were any of them Collinses?” Elizabeth asked, taking a sip from her coffee cup. “Besides Josette, I mean.”

“One.” Carolyn stabbed her fork into a slice of pancake. “Samantha Drew Collins died in 1841.”

“Samantha...” Elizabeth searched her memory. “She was married to the first Quentin Collins.”

“Yes, her death was recorded twice. That’s what frustrates me the most. The authors make one contradictory statement after another. It’s as if they deliberately smudge the facts to avoid the least bit of scandal.”

“There is a long tradition of upholding the Collins name, even at the expense of history,” Elizabeth reminded her, having been guilty of the custom herself.

“Do you think it could be this Samantha trying to contact us?”

“I doubt it, darling. Samantha Collins had no personal ties to us. In fact, I believe she remarried before her death.” Elizabeth finished her coffee and then asked, “Was there nothing else?”

“Oh, I did stumble across a name I’ve never heard before — Beth Chavez. She worked at Collinwood as a maid in...”

“1897,” Elizabeth finished for her. “Your grandfather, Jamison, was quite fond of her. She died when he was just a boy. He named me after her.”

Carolyn smiled. She had forgotten what an authority her mother was where it concerned the family’s history. “I never knew that.” She became animated as she pondered, “Maybe Beth is the woman in the dream?”

“Perhaps?” Elizabeth sounded unsure.

“Only there were two different accounts of her death. In one, she shot herself, and in the other, she jumped from Widows’ Hill.”

Elizabeth visibly shivered at the thought. “How terrible.”

“I’m sorry to bring up all this doom and gloom first thing in the morning,” Carolyn apologized, forgetting about her half-eaten pancake.

“It’s not your fault, darling.” Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on Carolyn’s arm. “After all, I did ask.”

Carolyn decided this might be the best opportunity to steer the conversation toward a more interesting topic. “Speaking of questions,” she dove in carefully, “what was it that startled you after dinner last night?”

Elizabeth’s mood abruptly changed. “Carolyn, I told you it was nothing important.”

“Now, mother — you’re not easily rattled and last night you were definitely spooked.” Before she could allow her mother to protest, Carolyn added plaintively, “If you saw anything related to the dream or the things that have been happening here, then I need to know so Professor Stokes will be able to help us.”

Elizabeth stood up from the table, incensed that Carolyn would doubt her word. “Carolyn, I said it was nothing and I meant it. You seem to forget that I’ve been under a great deal of stress this week. How would you react? I cannot be a pillar of strength all the time.” She clenched her hands together, moving toward the bay window where several house plants still glistened from being watered by Mrs. Johnson earlier.

Carolyn bit her lip, feeling at a loss. She and her mother had not argued in years, and seeing Elizabeth upset was a painful reminder of a time they had been at odds with one another. “Mother, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I truly am. But I still feel like you’re keeping something from me.”

“I’m sorry too,” Elizabeth said softly. “I’m sorry that you refuse to accept my word on the matter.” A shrewd manipulator, she could always bend an argument in her favor.

Carolyn went to her mother’s side and enveloped her in a hug. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. And I do believe you. I won’t mention it again. I promise.” With one glance at the clock, she shifted gears and exclaimed, “Oh, look at the time! I need to shower and change before Professor Stokes arrives.”

“But,” Elizabeth protested, “you haven’t finished your breakfast.”

“I’m not that hungry anyway.” Carolyn took a quick sip from a glass of orange juice before finishing, “Don’t worry, I won’t miss lunch.” And with that, she left the kitchen and headed upstairs.

Elizabeth looked down at her daughter’s half-eaten meal with a sigh. Then, a wave of sadness washed over her. That face she had spotted in the crowd — his face — she could not shake the image from her mind. Her face contorted in anguish and she began to weep in her hands.

*****

A hot shower had been just the tonic Carolyn needed. She felt more alert and ready to unravel whatever new mystery had ensnared her family. Slipping into a robe, she gathered her long, blond hair up into a towel and piled it on top of her head. Then, she wiped away the mist obscuring the bathroom mirror and blinked in astonishment. Behind her, clear as crystal, stood her dead husband, Jeb Hawkes.

“Jeb!” she gasped in disbelief.

Carolyn, hot tears trailing down her cheeks, whirled around and saw nothing there. Jeb had disappeared and Carolyn began to wonder if she had ever seen him at all. She turned back to the mirror and wiped away the reformed mist again in the vain hope her deceased husband’s image might return. But all she caught was a glimpse of herself, heartbroken and confused.

“Why? Why is this happening?” she whispered. “Oh, Jeb. I’ve tried so hard to reach you, to talk to you one more time... and you’ve never answered me.”

One of the reasons Carolyn had embarked on her studies into the supernatural had been in an effort to contact Jeb. Her precognitive visions and her family’s history made up a large part of it too. But secretly, she had hoped to gain answers and maybe a little closure on what had been the most traumatic moment of her life. Now, seeing Jeb even for a split second brought all those feelings bubbling to the surface again.

She gripped the edge of the sink in an effort to steady herself, only to inhale sharply as a vision flooded her mind. Although it appeared fuzzy at the edges, Carolyn could see Widows’ Hill as if she were standing outside on the estate’s grounds. There, at the edge of the cliff stood a woman with long, dark hair and wearing a red dress. Carolyn could only bear witness as the forlorn figure tumbled over the precipice. And just like that, the vision ended.

Carolyn held tightly to the sink as the force of the vision almost sent her reeling back. Not only had she experienced the woman’s tragic fall, but she had also felt the madness, fear, and despair that had drawn her to the cliff. It left Carolyn with such a deep impression that she understood Elizabeth’s fierce determination to help the tortured soul find peace.

She startled at a knock at the door and Mrs. Johnson loudly calling, “Miss Carolyn! Professor Stokes is here.”

“A-alright,” Carolyn noted the slight tremor in her voice, “I’ll be down in a few minutes.” As she heard the housekeeper moving away, she pulled herself together and brushed the tears clinging to her face away.

*****

Hands clasped behind his back, Professor Timothy Eliot Stokes waited in Collinwood’s drawing-room and stood before the fireplace while examining the portrait of Jeremiah Collins, the man who had constructed the mansion. Stokes always found his visits to Collinwood fascinating. He seemed to be inextricably linked with the family, especially in times of crisis. Although his 18th-century ancestor Ben Stokes had been an indentured servant to the Collinses, he himself had only the ties of friendship. And yet, time and again, he was drawn back to the great house.

The moment he had stepped over the threshold his finely tuned senses had indicated something unnatural occurred within recently. Carolyn’s vague description left few clues to ponder during his hasty trip from Bangor. The urgency in which she asked for his help suggested the situation proved far more difficult than her novice skills could handle. Stokes had been intrigued but not surprised when Carolyn had first proposed studying the occult. It seemed a natural suggestion given her family’s propensity for the supernatural and her own experiences. Perhaps he had agreed too easily? She was a promising student displaying abilities those in the parapsychology field would be envious of. However, Stokes felt that Carolyn was holding herself back and not fully embracing her potential. She seemed far more interested in contacting the dead than understanding and learning the fundamentals of psychic phenomena.

“Eliot?”

Elizabeth’s voice caused Stokes’ monocle to dislodge from his eye as he turned and greeted his old friend. “Elizabeth,” he welcomed her with a smile, crossing the distance between them to grasp her hands. “I would be gentlemanly and inquire about your well-being, but from the little Carolyn shared, I understand that might be a foolish albeit kind endeavor.”

“Yes, but it’s appreciated all the same.” Elizabeth smiled warmly. “I’m delighted to see you, even it is under difficult circumstances. Would you like something to drink?”

“Sherry or port will be fine,” he replied, noting the unease in her body language.

“Of course.” Elizabeth crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured a glass of sherry for the professor. Her grip on the bottle trembled slightly.

“You’re very nervous,” he observed.

“Is it that obvious?” She handed him the glass, not quite able to meet his gaze.

“Well now, let us not waste time with pleasantries. Exactly what has been happening here, Elizabeth? Carolyn mentioned a recurring dream.”

Elizabeth gestured for Stokes to join her on the sofa. “It has never been easy for me to accept all the unusual things that have happened in this house,” she said, wearing a frown. “And I probably would have discounted a nightmare if it hadn’t been so real and tormenting me over and over again.”

Stokes took an unhurried sip of sherry. “And there has no deviation in the pattern?” he asked, his mind already searching for possible causes.

“No.”Anxiety threatening to overwhelm her, Elizabeth stood up and clasped her hands together as if the action might strengthen her resolve. “Every night for a week, it has been exactly the same.” She slowly walked toward the piano situated in one corner of the room, and explained, “A woman, standing on the edge of Widows’ Hill. She never turns around, she never reacts no matter how hard I try to reach her. Then, she falls... and she’s trapped... trapped in a black empty void. All I can see are her hands, rushing out of the darkness, pleading for help...”

Stokes abandoned his drink on the coffee table as Elizabeth’s voice reached a near fever pitch. Elizabeth Collins Stoddard did not dissolve into hysterics and Stokes took her plight very seriously, indeed. He was beside her in an instant, supporting her as an emotional dam burst and she cried out, “I have to help her... I know I do... There has to be a way... I can’t leave her trapped in that terrible place... Please, Eliot... please tell me there is something we can do!”

“Elizabeth, we may be able to once I have learned more about who this woman might be and what is causing the dream,” he said calmly. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Elizabeth stammered, embarrassed over her outburst. “Whenever I talk about the dream, it is as if I am reliving it and I can feel her loneliness, her despair, and her need for someone to help her. She reached out to me for a reason, Eliot. I have no idea why and I wish to heavens I knew, that way at least I wouldn’t be driving myself mad not knowing.”

Stokes left Elizabeth’s side long enough to pour a glass of sherry for her. She gratefully accepted it with shivering hands before taking a drink. “Does any of this make sense?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes, it does,” he answered, leading Elizabeth back over to rest on the sofa. Although the situation might be dire, Stokes confirmed to himself that Elizabeth’s experience did not share similarities with the Dream Curse that had once plagued the family. Filing that thought away, he explained, “There is a phenomenon in which a spirit can become trapped between worlds — in limbo for want of a better word — and in rare occasions, they have been known to pierce the veil and make contact with those sensitive enough to hear them.”

“Roger experienced it too,” Elizabeth informed him, adding, “and something incredible happened in Carolyn’s room.”

Stokes leaned forward attentively. “A physical manifestation?”

Elizabeth nodded, frowning. “It completely destroyed her vanity mirror... and something left a handprint on Roger’s window.” It sounded ridiculous and she would not have believed it if she had not witnessed the events with her own eyes.

“Interesting.”

“What I can’t understand is why it would do such a thing. I’ve sensed nothing malicious about the woman. Quite the contrary, in fact. It was the man’s laughter that frightened me...”

“A man?” Stokes became even more intrigued.

“Oh, forgive me, Eliot. I’d almost forgotten in the rush to describe the dream to you.”

“You must leave nothing out, Elizabeth,” stressed Stokes.

Elizabeth’s face twisted in disgust as she recalled the memory. “I heard a man laughing in the dream.” She shivered, continuing, “Horrible, evil laughter. There was something... familiar about it...”

“You recognized it?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t place it.” Elizabeth exhaled deeply. “I’ve been trying to recall where I’ve heard that voice before...”

“That is a pity, then.” Stokes tapped his chin thoughtfully with a forefinger. “His identity would have helped a great deal.”

“Do you think he could be responsible for all this? The woman’s death? The nightmares?”

“Anything is possible, Elizabeth.”

“Carolyn stayed up last night reading up on the history of Widows’ Hill. I’m afraid she did not find anything that could be of much help.”

As if on cue, the drawing-room doors opened and Carolyn stepped inside, having changed into a light blue dress with matching shoes. “Mother’s right, the only thing I found was a very sore back.”

Professor Stokes rose from the sofa to greet his student. “Carolyn, your mother’s been filling me in on her extraordinary dream.” When she did not respond, Stokes prompted, “Carolyn?”

In one glance, Elizabeth could see Carolyn was upset. “What is it, baby?” She was by her daughter’s side in an instant.

Carolyn took a few tentative steps into the room. “I had a vision of Widows’ Hill,” she explained shakily. “It was just like your dream, mother. But something else happened... I saw Jeb.”

“What?” Elizabeth gasped in disbelief. The mention of Jeb’s;s name sent a shock of realization through her. However, in true Collins fashion, Elizabeth rallied herself before Stokes or Carolyn could notice she momentarily appeared to have been doused with ice water.

“Just for a second... in a mirror,” a breathless Carolyn continued. “I refuse to believe it was just my imagination. It was Jeb... right there in front of me.”

“Mirrors again?” pondered Stokes, then clarified, “Your mother related the unfortunate state of your vanity table.”

“Yes, professor. But what could it mean?” Carolyn, completely recovered from her shock, transformed into an insistent ball of energy. “You lectured about folklore and how people believe mirrors could capture their souls.”

“I am greatly flattered you remembered. At least I have one attentive student.” Stokes fairly beamed with pride before relating to Elizabeth, “There is a long-held belief that a soul can project out of the body and into mirrors in the form of reflection. This is where the superstition of breaking a mirror and causing seven years back luck originates.”

Carolyn chimed in, “Mrs. Johnson reminded me of that earlier.”

“What connection would a mirror have with the dream?” Elizabeth asked, frightened of the prospect.

“Reflective surfaces are known to be a crude means of communication for the dead,” Stokes informed her. “This might account for your mirror shattering, Carolyn. If Jeb is trying to contact you, the sheer force of his will would have easily broken it.”

Carolyn’s heart ached at the thought and she cried out plaintively, “But why? Why now after all this time? I’ve tried to reach out to him so many times —”

“Carolyn!” Elizabeth could not believe her ears. “Is that why you were so adamant about taking Eliot’s classes?”

Before Carolyn could respond, Stokes said, “I suspected as much. Carolyn, I want you to be completely honest with me. Have you used any unconventional means to contact Jeb?”

“What?” Carolyn, feeling insulted by the accusation, answered firmly, “No, of course not.”

“Good.” Stokes sounded relieved. “That narrows down the cause of the haunting.”

“So, you do believe the woman in my dream is a ghost?” Elizabeth asked, a melancholy tone in her voice.

Stokes replied with a noncommittal, “If she is a ghost, then she is a very peculiar one. She appears to be trapped and has the ability to infiltrate dreams to ask for help. Yet, we have no clue to her identity or her connection to the Collins family, besides Widows’ Hill.”

“How is Jeb tied into all this?” Carolyn wondered.

“I very much doubt he is,” Stokes confessed, adding, “Like the woman in the dream, it seems he has unfinished business to attend to.”

“Meaning me?” Carolyn realized her mother was desperate to help the woman in the dream. But if there was even a slight chance she could speak with Jeb one last time, then Carolyn would take it.

“Jeb’s spirit might have latched onto the residual energy produced by the force compelling the dream,” Stokes hypothesized.

Elizabeth, who had been absorbing the dizzying amount of paranormal information, spoke up, “I take it we can’t use a mirror as a means of communication?”

“Perhaps,” Stokes replied ambiguously. “I would hate to see one of your precious antiques destroyed when other means can be employed.”

“Such as?” Elizabeth asked, arching a cautious eyebrow.

After a weighted pause, Stokes wondered, “Are you familiar with lucid dreaming?”

Elizabeth thought for a moment. “Vaguely,” she answered. “I believe there is a book about dreams in the library.” During her self-imposed 18 year isolation, she had whiled away the seemingly never-ending hours reading in an attempt to escape Collinwood’s walls. In doing so, she became quite well-versed in a number of subjects. Lucid dreaming, however, was a topic with which she had little familiarity.

“It’s like writing a story while you’re dreaming,” Carolyn explained, having experienced the phenomenon herself. “You’re able to gain control of the narrative.”

“To a degree,” clarified Stokes, adding, “There’s no guarantee, but we could —with your permission, Elizabeth — induce sleep paralysis.”

Alarmed, Elizabeth echoed, “Sleep paralysis?” Her pulse quickened as horrible memories of Roger’s ex-wife, Cassandra Collins, placing a death curse upon her resurfaced. She had appeared dead but was aware of everything happening around her. The spell had only been broken when she sensed Carolyn’s life was in danger.

“Don’t be afraid, mother.” Carolyn quickly reassured her, “I won’t leave your side. You’ll go to sleep, dream, and wake up normally.”

“Are you sure?” Elizabeth hesitated even as Carolyn nodded.

“Elizabeth, I promise you will be perfectly safe,” Stokes reassured her. “During lucid dreaming, you can learn the identity of our mystery woman. As Carolyn succinctly put it: the story is yours to control. If you wish to see the woman, then you merely have to make it happen.”

“It sounds too easy.” Elizabeth sounded skeptical, but she added with conviction, “But I’ll do anything to help that poor girl.”

“Excellent,” a pleased Stokes remarked. “Shall we begin?”

Carolyn blinked in surprise. “Now?”

“What is that quaint little saying? Ah, yes — there is no time like the present. I am sure that your mother would like to have her suffering resolved as soon as possible.”

“Yes, yes — please,” Elizabeth agreed, clasping her hands together in near-desperation as she stood up.

Stokes informed them, “There are a few things I will need to gather in the village before we begin.”

Elizabeth, anxious to talk with Stokes alone, concocted an excuse, “Eliot, I hate to ask, but could you please run an errand for me?”

“Of course, Elizabeth — How could I refuse?”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied, and then turned her attention to Carolyn, “Darling, could you check on Uncle Roger?”

“Sure,” Carolyn agreed with an air of suspicion. She kissed her mother on the cheek before bidding farewell to Professor Stokes. Elizabeth watched as her daughter scampered across the foyer and upstairs, her long, blond hair bouncing in time with her steps. 

The moment Carolyn was out of sight, Elizabeth closed the drawing-room doors again, pulled Stokes aside, and confided with hushed urgency, “I know who that awful laughter in the dream belonged to.”

Stokes reacted with surprise. “Who?”

Elizabeth hesitated, and then answered with conviction, “Jeb.”

“Elizabeth, are you certain?”

“Yes, and I don’t want Carolyn to know. Eliot, I’m frightened. All I’ve ever wished for Carolyn is happiness and hearing this will open up old wounds. What if we’re dealing with something that is best left alone?”

“If so, what about the woman in your dream? The one you keep insisting needs your help?”

“I know.” Elizabeth found herself torn between Carolyn and her overwhelming sense of duty. Even if their efforts brought emotional turmoil upon her beloved Carolyn, Elizabeth could not ignore the woman who had reached out to her and leave her trapped in darkness. “We must go through with your plan. But how can we shield Carolyn?”

“That may not be possible.” Stokes toyed with his monocle pensively. “It has only just occurred to me that we knew so little about Jeb Hawkes before Carolyn married him.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth’s query sounded more like an accusation.

“I am not fond of mysteries I cannot solve, Elizabeth. And you must admit Jeb was a puzzling individual right up until his death.”

“I can’t believe Jeb has anything to do with the dream.” Elizabeth tried to be logical about the possibility. “It must be like you said, his spirit is restless and he was simply drawn back here to Carolyn.” She was not sure who she was attempting to convince: herself or Stokes. “There is no need to mention or even involve Jeb.” It sounded more like an order than a request.

“Perhaps,” Stokes said absently, his mind turning over a multitude of locks in an attempt to unravel what he thought to be a tantalizingly secret. “Either way, I agree that Carolyn’s grief should not be addressed at this time.”

*****

When Professor Stokes returned from his errand, he took it upon himself to ascend the staircase and meet Elizabeth and Carolyn in the Collins matriarch’s room. The curtains were drawn to block out the daylight and Elizabeth rested on her bed, having changed into her night attire, complete with an elegant robe. In ordinary circumstances, Stokes might express a gentlemanly gesture about the intimacy of Elizabeth’s bedroom but this was far from a normal situation.

“Carolyn, would you mind preparing a pot of tea with this herbal mixture?” he requested, passing an envelope to his student. He anticipated Elizabeth’s quizzical expression and addressed her worries, “Merely something to help you sleep, Elizabeth.”

“I’ll be right back, mother,” Carolyn said, pausing in the doorway to add, “You two behave yourselves.”

“Carolyn!” Elizabeth exclaimed, shaking her head disapprovingly as her daughter giggled and closed the door behind her. “You’ll have to forgive her, Eliot,” she sighed, ticking her gaze toward Stokes.

Stokes settled into a chair and reassured Elizabeth, “I have found Carolyn’s levity to be a most positive distraction.” He reached inside his coat pocket and produced a small notebook and a pen. “Where her studies are concerned, Carolyn was blessed with a keen insight to discern things beyond the veil.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s a family disease my daughter inherited.”

“It’s true, the Collins family does have an unusual amount of supernatural happenings throughout its history. Quite honestly, I have never encountered anything like it before or since.”

Elizabeth could not argue with Stokes’ assessment. Each member of her family had been touched by the paranormal in one form or another. She glanced down at her hands and unconsciously turned a ring adorning her finger back and forth. “I often wonder what prompted these nightmares in the first place,” she admitted solemnly.

“You don’t choose nightmares. They choose you.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Elizabeth glanced up and asked hopefully, “Eliot, if this works, how will it help us?”

“Discovering her identity and the circumstances surrounding her death will give us a greater chance of contacting and ultimately helping her,” he explained, meeting her gaze.

“I’m afraid it won’t be that easy,” Elizabeth stated with conviction.

“Elizabeth, how do you know that?” Stokes wondered, his curiosity peaked. “We have yet to begin the sleep experiment.”

“It’s just a feeling.” Elizabeth sounded unsure. “Call it a woman’s intuition.”

“One of the most powerful senses in the world,” Stokes conceded. “However, it is imperative that you go into this with a positive attitude. It could make all the difference between success and failure.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Stokes checked the time on his antique pocket watch despite Elizabeth’s clock on the nightstand ticking away. “Well, I must confess that I am growing more curious about our mystery woman. Reaching out in such an extraordinary manner takes a great deal of psychic energy, especially for a trapped spirit.”

Elizabeth gave an involuntary shiver and rubbed warmth into her arms. “If you could have seen her, felt her pain and despair — she desperately needs my help. Even when I’m not dreaming, I can still sense her as if she’s here in this very room.”

There came a knock at the door and Carolyn returned carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a cup and saucer. “I ran into Mrs. Johnson on the way back,” she mentioned, offering Stokes a grateful smiled and he stood up and offered to take the tray from her. “I told her you’ve got a mild headache, mother.” A little white lie to ensure the housekeeper did not bother them and disrupt the sleep experiment.

“Thank you, darling.” Elizabeth appreciated her daughter thinking fast on her feet. “I take it Uncle Roger is still sleeping?”

“Yes,” Carolyn confirmed. “I could hear him sawing logs when I passed by his room.”

“I suppose that’s for the best.”

“Is Roger unwell?” Stokes inquired as he poured Elizabeth a cup of tea.

“After his experience with the nightmare, he abided a little too much last night,” Elizabeth tactfully explained.

“I’ll say he did,” Carolyn added for good measure, which earned her a reproaching glance from her mother.

Professor Stokes detested idle gossip and instead of probing the matter further, he concentrated on the task at hand. “Elizabeth, I want you to focus on the dream that haunts you,” he instructed, passing her the cup of tea. “Focus only on the dream, of the woman standing on the cliff’s edge at Widows’ Hill. Focus.”

Elizabeth nodded, accepting the cup and taking a sip of the fragrant, slightly bitter mixture. It took immediate effect as her eyelids became heavy and the room lurched around her. Somehow she managed to finish the tea, completely unaware of Stokes retrieving the cup and saucer as her arms fell lifelessly by her side on the bed. She felt odd, aware of her surroundings but unable to move a muscle.  _ Think only of the dream! _ she told herself before panic could set in. 

And just like that, Elizabeth found herself standing on the precipice of Widows’ Hill. Instead of the dark and stormy sky that always greeted her during the nightmare, a canvas of bright blue stretched out above her.  _ This is my dream, _ she reminded herself.  _ I can make it be anything I want. _

She gazed toward the empty cliff edge and suddenly the woman with long, dark hair and wearing a blood-red dress appeared. Elizabeth took a step toward her, carefully at first but gaining confidence. “I’m here to help you,” she said, moving closer. “All I need you to do is turn around. Please?”

The figure stood frozen, the only movement being her hair and dress whipping around her in the ocean breeze. Even with her back facing Elizabeth, the figure appeared so fragile it was somewhat miraculous the wind had not carried her away.

_ Focus! You can do this, _ Elizabeth encouraged herself. “You came to me, you needed me and I’m here. Please, move away from the edge. Walk toward me. Please? I implore you — please!”

Elizabeth’s heart lifted as the woman began to slowly turn to face her. She smiled and held her arms out to greet her. Then, the wind picked up with such force it sent Elizabeth reeling backward. She regained her footing and shielded her eyes with her hand. “No!” she cried out.

A peal of angry thunder rumbled and the sky grew ominously black. Elizabeth faltered as the familiar laugher belonging to Jeb Hawkes rang out. Despite all of this, she stood firm and continued to urge the woman away from the cliff edge. She had enjoyed free rein of her dream up until this point — now some diabolical force had deemed it necessary to interfere. Just as the woman started to fully turn and face her, Elizabeth gasped as the silhouette of a man materialized between them, effectively blocking her view. She blinked, unable to focus her eyes properly. Elizabeth equated the shape with static — like a television signal disrupted by a rainstorm. Undaunted, she squared her shoulders and raised her head to imperiously confront the intruder.

“I am Elizabeth Collins Stoddard and this is my dream! Jeb, is that you? What are you doing here?”

The figure sizzled before her as if fighting for dominance over Elizabeth’s iron will. From somewhere far in the distance, a voice as distorted as the visage before her simply answered, “You’ll find out.”

Then, Elizabeth felt herself being pulled backward — forcibly drawn out of the nightmare and back to reality. She awoke with a gasp, her eyes wide with fright and her hands flying to her face.

“Mother!” exclaimed Carolyn, clutching Elizabeth’s shoulders. “You’re alright, I’m right here with you.”

“Elizabeth, what happened?” Professor Stokes asked. “What did you see?”

For a moment, Elizabeth could not find her voice. She seemed to be stuck between two places at once — one half of her lingering in the dream, while the other grounded her in the here and now. “I... I had the nightmare,” she managed to stammer. “It started out differently. I had control of it...”

“Go on, Elizabeth,” urged Stokes, who feverishly jotted down notes.

“Did you see her, mother — the woman at Widows’ Hill?” asked Carolyn as she gently took Elizabeth’s hands into her own.

“Yes, I saw her... she responded and turned around...”

Stokes, certain the experiment had been a success, pressed, “Did you see her face? Did she speak to you?”

“No.” Elizabeth shook her head, her features darkening with sorrow. “Something... some force took over the nightmare.”

Stokes and Carolyn shared a troubled glance. Before either of them could voice their concern, Elizabeth told them with great urgency, “It was a man... I couldn’t make out his face, but he appeared and stopped the dream.”

“But why?” Carolyn cried out. “How is it even possible?”

By this time, Stokes had abandoned his notebook and entered a state of deep contemplation. “I’m afraid we’re dealing with something far more insidious than even I imagined.”

“Look!” Elizabeth screamed, snatching her hands out of Carolyn’s grasp and shakily pointing at the mirror on her vanity table.

Stokes and Carolyn watched in amazement as the glass began to crack and splinter across its surface, forming a web of fractures. Then, from its center, translucent fingers emerged and stretched out until an entire feminine hand loomed, grasping at the air...


	3. Shattered: Chapter Three by R.C. Moore

On this night at Collinwood, an experiment to learn the identity of the woman haunting the dreams of those who live at the Great Estate has gone awry. A malignant force has intervened — a force that will cause the Collins family to embark on a desperate venture...

Chapter Three

Professor Stokes, undaunted by the sight of a ghostly hand stretching out from a splintered mirror, approached the spectral vision and called out, “If you are the woman from Elizabeth’s dream, come forward and allow us to help you.”

“It is her!” Elizabeth exclaimed, frantically attempting to get up from the bed.

Carolyn held her back and urged her, “Mother, wait!”

However, a determined Elizabeth broke free and cried out, “I’ve got to help her — I have to!”

Stokes waved her back, but the Collins matriarch would not be dissuaded. She rushed toward the vanity table only to be halted in her tracks by the professor. “Elizabeth, please wait!”

“She needs me.” Elizabeth cast helpless glances between her daughter and Stokes, beseeching them, “Why can’t either of you see that?”

The spirit’s hand continued to reach out blindly until an arm appeared. Every instinct within Elizabeth urged her to touch the ghost’s grasp and pull her free from the mirror. Yet, Stokes held her firmly in place and Elizabeth could only watch helplessly as the mirror continued to split until it finally shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces and the apparition vanished along with it.

“Oh my god,” Carolyn gasped in amazement.

A devastated Elizabeth sagged in Stokes’ arms. “What happened? Why couldn’t she break free? What’s all this been for?”

“Elizabeth,” Stokes began calmly, “the powers at work here are using a vast amount of energy. You saw what happened to the mirror — if you touched the ghost, what might have happened?”

Carolyn shivered at the thought. “Mother, he’s right — you could have been killed.” She gave a sigh of frustration, “Why can’t there be one normal ghost? One that just shows up to say “Hi!” and then leaves? It would make for a nice change of pace.”

Elizabeth wept softly as Stokes guided her over to the bed, where Carolyn urged her mother to sit down. “I’m sorry mother,” she said, comforting her. “I really thought this would work out.”

“Thank you, darling,” Elizabeth sniffled, drying her eyes with a handkerchief embroidered with her initials. “Perhaps we were asking too much? I’m afraid, Carolyn. Terribly afraid I won’t be able to help that poor girl.”

“Mother, you can’t give up now.”

“I’m not — believe me, I’m not. Somehow I know she needs me.” Carolyn started to question her, but Elizabeth insisted, “She does. It’s almost as if I can see her. She’s trapped in that black nothingness. Alone. Not knowing where she is or what to do.”

Professor Stokes thoughtfully stroked his chin as he observed the aftermath of the ghost’s materialization. Glass fragments crunched beneath his feet as he first surveyed the scattered framed photographs before replacing them on the table. Then, he turned to address Elizabeth, “You might not believe this, and I would not blame you if you doubted my word, but I believe we have made great strides in uncovering the identity of our mystery woman.”

“Eliot, tell us — what do you mean?” Elizabeth wondered, finding a spark of hope to warm herself with.

“At present, our ghost has only limited communication through dreams. Something exists in that realm with her, some force preventing us from learning her identity. What if we are able to bypass that power and speak to her directly?”

“If that’s true, then why didn’t you suggest it before?”

“It is a course of action I had hoped to avoid.”

“And that would be?”

Carolyn chimed in, “Professor Stokes is suggesting a séance, Mother.”

“A séance?” echoed Elizabeth with an air of uncertainty.

“Yes,” Stokes nodded, “and Carolyn, I would very much like it if you preside over the ceremony.”

Carolyn almost laughed at the suggestion. “Me? Professor Stokes, I’m flattered but you’re far more skilled in contacting the dead.”

“Precisely. Consider this extra credit. I can think of no greater test than first-hand experience.”

Carolyn asked Elizabeth, “Mother, what do you think?”

“If it will help, then I have no objections.”

“Excellent.” Stokes clapped his large hands together. “Carolyn, I would like for you to spend the rest of the day using the meditation techniques I taught you in preparation for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Elizabeth questioned, adding, “Why not now?”

“As clichéd as it might sound, nighttime adds a certain ambiance to the proceedings that ghosts tend to find agreeable,” Stokes answered, sounding more jovial than he intended. He noticed the admonishing gleam in Elizabeth’s gaze and assured her, “Do forgive me for sounding like a child in a toy store, Elizabeth. But I am just as fascinated as you are to unravel this mystery.”

“Eliot, it goes much further than fascination,” Elizabeth chided, reminding him, “There needs to be an end to all this. For me, for Carolyn, for Roger. But especially for the ghost of that woman.”

Carolyn stepped forward in an attempt to placate her mother. “We’re going to need a little patience, mother. I’m sure we’ll find out something tonight.”

Seemingly appeased, Elizabeth advised her daughter, “Perhaps you had better do as Eliot asked. I want to have a word with Mrs. Johnson.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes. “I know you’ll probably have to force her to agree. But please tell me you’re going to give her the night off?” Otherwise, the superstitious housekeeper would be a distraction spending the rest of the day warning them about tampering with unnatural forces and the disaster that would inevitably follow. 

“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” Elizabeth confirmed before turning her attention to her ruined vanity table. “Hopefully, I can have this replaced before she discovers it.”

“Perhaps I can remedy that,” Stokes offered.

“Eliot, I couldn’t possibly impose upon you —”

“It’s no imposition, Elizabeth. Actually, I feel partly responsible for the destruction of such an elegant piece of furniture.”

Elizabeth paused before suggesting, “I believe there are a couple of suitable replacements in the basement.”

“I’ll begin my search there, then,” Stokes decided before departing from the room.

Carolyn offered her mother a hug and said, “Promise me you’ll try and get some rest? I know how difficult this has been for you.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, adding, “it’s beginning to take more of a toll than even I would like to admit.”

“Everything will be alright, mother.” She kissed her cheek and started to leave, pausing in the doorway to add, “I’ll see you downstairs later.”

Elizabeth nodded and waited until Carolyn had closed the door behind her to move toward the vanity table. She observed the shattered pieces of mirror laying at her feet, equating them to the fragments of her life and all of her questionable decisions that continued to weigh heavily on her conscience. “I will help you,” she promised, hoping the woman from her nightmare could hear her. “I promise.”

*****

Time ticked by slowly as the afternoon stubbornly refused to surrender itself to the evening’s embrace. Elizabeth, anxious for the night’s planned event to begin, managed to convince Mrs. Johnson to take a little time off after dinner. With the housekeeper distracted, Professor Stokes replaced both Carolyn and Elizabeth’s vanity tables in their respective rooms and discarded the broken furniture in Collinwood’s basement. The task proved enlightening as Stokes pondered the nature of the ghost and the dream. He had no doubt someone or something was manipulating events like a skilled chess master. To what end, though? Hopefully, the answer would reveal itself during the séance. Then and only then could he take action to rid Collinwood of its latest haunting. An exorcism was out of the question as past attempts had led to disastrous results. No, eliminating the force at the heart of the puzzle would be imperative in resolving their dilemma.

He ate an early dinner alone, readying himself mentally for the séance. Elizabeth and Carolyn followed his lead, each eating separately in their respective rooms. Stokes had the utmost confidence in Carolyn’s growing abilities and he felt anxious to see how much progress she made tonight. However, one thing bothered him — Carolyn’s obsession with contacting her deceased husband. Stokes understood his student’s need for closure. Yet, it concerned him that Carolyn might go too far in fulfilling her desire. His train of thought derailed as he heard someone descending the staircase.

A refreshed Elizabeth, who had changed into a simple, yet graceful black dress stepped down into the foyer. She paused at the base of the stairs and caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror hanging on the wall. Firm resolve sparkled in her eyes as she turned and walked toward the drawing-room. She found Stokes standing next to the fireplace where he was finishing off his dinner with a cup of coffee.

“Good evening, Elizabeth,” he greeted her.

“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” she said, closing the doors for privacy. “I can’t begin to thank you for all you’ve done.”

“Thank me after the séance,” Stokes suggested.

“I persuaded Mrs. Johnson to visit her daughter this evening, so we shouldn’t have to worry about an interruption.”

As if on cue, the drawing-room doors abruptly opened and Roger, clearly nursing an agonizing hangover, stumbled inside. “What is this?” he inquired archly. “A meeting of the minds or an intervention?”

“Roger!” Elizabeth exploded, ashamed of her brother’s behavior. She turned apologetically to Stokes and said, “You’ll have to forgive my brother, Eliot. He has clearly forgotten his manners.”

“That’s quite understandable, Elizabeth,” Stokes said graciously before turning to the new arrival. “Roger, I would ask about your health but your current state rather makes the point moot.”

Unimpressed by either of them, Roger haughtily announced, “Well, if you’ll both excuse me, I think I’ll have a hair of the dog that bit me.”

“No, you will not!” Elizabeth shouted before turning on the charm and escorting Stokes out of the room. “Eliot, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to have a word with my brother.”

Stokes knew the Collins family’s dynamics well enough to deduce an almighty row between siblings was about to take place. “Of course,” he agreed, adding, “The garden looks splendid and should make for an ideal spot to pass the time.

After he departed, Elizabeth closed the drawing-room doors again and focused her fury on Roger. “That was an unseemly display. It’s bad enough Carolyn and I found you in a heap last night, but I will not tolerate rudeness to my guests.”

“Guests?” Roger repeated as if he did not understand the definition of the word. “Oh, is that what Stokes is? What is he doing here anyway? Did Carolyn forget a book or something tediously mundane?”

“Professor Stokes is here at my request,” Elizabeth informed her brother under no certain terms. She took a beat to calm herself, then approached Roger with a seriousness that would make lesser men quiver to their knees. “Roger, we need to talk,” she began.

“Liz, I neither want nor need a lecture.”

“This isn’t a lecture, Roger. I did not want you to know what’s been happening to me this past week. But your incredible behavior told me you had a very specific dream last night, didn’t you? A nightmare about a woman falling to her death from Widows’ Hill.”

Roger squinted at his sister. “How could you know that?”

“Because I’ve experienced it too — several times,” she answered before reprimanding her brother again, “Only I didn’t seek solace from every bottle of brandy in the house.”

Despite his headache, Roger was equally cutting in his reply, “No, you kept it a secret and called Carolyn and her pet professor for help.”

“Yes, I did as you’ve made it abundantly clear that I cannot rely on you.”

Roger’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Liz, I am in no mood for an argument but what exactly has been happening around here?”

“If you must know, we’re dealing with another haunting.”

“A haunting? So, that’s the great professor’s diagnosis?”

“Roger, you are insufferable,” Elizabeth did not mince words. Her brother’s reaction was exactly the one she had predicted. “At one time, you respected Eliot’s advice. I had hoped his presence here would make you realize the seriousness of our current situation.”

“Liz, would you listen to yourself? Ghosts, dreams... What are the three of you proposing to do about it?”

“A séance,” she told him. “Tonight.”

“A séance?” Roger balked at the suggestion. “When I think of all the trouble those absurd ceremonies have caused us, the people we’ve loved and lost.”

“Roger, it’s very cruel of you to remind me of Vicki,” Elizabeth said, the anguish in her tone palpable. “Do you really believe a day goes by when I don’t think of her?”

Victoria Winters, David’s first governess, disappeared into the past during a séance the family held in 1968. She spent months in the year 1795 until a quirk in time returned her to the present-day in which no time whatsoever had passed. Vicki had lived and loved, having been falsely accused of witchcraft and sentenced to hang at the gallows. Her experience had haunted her while she longed to be reunited with Peter Bradford, a jailer from the 18th century who had tried in vain to defend her during her witchcraft trial. Somehow, Peter managed to appear in the present and take Vicki back in time with him. And that was the last anyone ever saw of Victoria Winters.

Despite Roger’s initial hostility and his questioning of Elizabeth’s motives for hiring a girl none of them had heard of, Vicki had become like a member of the Collins family and one of the few people in the world Roger genuinely cared for. The loss of Vicki hit Elizabeth particularly hard and Roger felt the crushing weight of guilt on his conscience for using such a painful reminder as a weapon against his sister.

“I’m sorry, Liz,” he apologized, tail between his legs. “That was cruel of me. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I merely wished to point out —”

Elizabeth cut in, “I know what you were trying to do, Roger. You brought up the past and that’s exactly why we’re going ahead with the séance. Someone needs our help — my help — and whoever they are, they’re going to have it.”

“But, Liz...” Roger started to protest.

“My mind is made up, Roger. We’re having the séance tonight. You can either join us or spend the evening in your room. I was hoping you would show the solidarity of a Collins and help us.” Elizabeth gestured toward the cabinet sitting in a corner of the room, adding with a biting, “By all means, adhere to your usual habit of drinking brandy and pretending nothing unusual is happening in this house.” With that, she turned on her heel, opened the doors, and left the room, her words stinging the air.

Roger, his head aching tenfold from Elizabeth’s dressing down, had little time to regroup as images of the nightmare flashed before his eyes one after another. He pressed his fists to each side of his temples in a vain effort to abolish the horrific scene of the young woman plummeting to her death. How had Elizabeth managed to cope with experiencing the dream night after night? As his sister pointed out with all the subtlety of a falling piano, his first instinct had been to blot out his troubles with alcohol. It was a habit best left in the past but weaved its seductive charm when he and David began fighting on a daily basis.

At one point, Roger would have thought the gulf that separated him and his son was too wide to build a bridge over. Somehow, miraculously, they had — in no small part due to Vicki’s efforts — and he and David were genuinely happy for a while. Where did it all go wrong? Roger asked himself that question numerous times and could never discern an answer. He eventually went searching in the bottom of brandy sifters, which only served to make matters worse. Now that the family faced another potential crisis, Roger found that old crutch of alcohol beckoning to him again. No, not this time. Elizabeth’s faith in him was broken and how soon would it be before she doubted his ability to run the business?

Roger’s introspection fought with the infernal throbbing pain in his head. He lost track of time as he sat nursing his hangover. The sound of a familiar set of feet entering the drawing-room elicited a miserable groan from Roger. 

“Mrs. Stoddard said you should drink this,” Mrs. Johnson announced, carrying in a small silver tray bearing a glass filled with her sister’s homemade hangover remedy.

Roger lowered his hands and one glance at what he could only describe as a witch’s brew made his stomach turn in on itself. “I can just imagine what an unpleasant experience this is going to be,” he said dryly.

“Well, it wasn’t meant to be enjoyable,” the housekeeper huffed. “But I can promise you one thing — after you drink this, you’ll never take another sip of liquor again. It’s the root of all evil.”

“Are you sure it isn’t this?” Roger spluttered, taking the glass and turning his nose up at the contents.

“Mr. Roger, if you can drink all that brandy, then this shouldn’t be any trouble at all.”

Roger quipped, “Forgive me if I appear to be more concerned about this concoction eating through the lining of my stomach.” He summoned his willpower and gulped down the noxious drink. His mouth twisted in disgust, Roger fought against the impulse to regurgitate all over the drawing-room floor.

Mrs. Johnson stared down her nose at Roger, taking the empty glass from him and setting it back on the tray. “Now, I expect you’ll be wanting help getting back to your room?”

“I think I’d be better off in the hospital,” he groaned, one hand clutching his stomach while the other grasped his head.

“That’s enough of that,” Mrs. Johnson admonished. She placed the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa and then helped Roger to his feet. “This is the second time I’ve had to help you upstairs. But you’ve probably already forgotten about last night.” She groaned as she crossed the foyer and toward the stairs, straining with Roger’s weight. “It’s times like this I miss my Harry.” Her ne’er-do-well son had left Collinsport a couple of years ago. Despite securing Harry with a good job at Collinwood, Mrs. Johnson had prayed he would follow the straight and narrow path. Her hopes were dashed when Harry departed a couple of years ago, citing “bigger and brighter” things ahead. She had not heard a word from him since, which either meant Harry was actually staying out of trouble, or he was in jail again. 

Roger archly noted, “Well, I certainly don’t miss him. It’s a wonder he didn’t make off with all the silverware when he left.”

The housekeeper gave a grunt of disapproval. “My Harry is a lot of things, Mr. Roger. But I never once had to put him to bed drunk!”

Only Mrs. Johnson could have gotten away with a comment like that and escape an axe chopping down on her employment. Roger, however, was not about to let her skate by unscathed and he took great delight in asking her, “Did my sister tell you we’re planning on having a séance?”

“A séance?” Mrs. Johnson gasped, stopping at the landing overlooking the foyer. “Is that why Mrs. Stoddard gave me the night off?” She held a hand against her chest as Roger managed to stumble toward the door leading to the second floor on his own.

“Yes,” Roger confirmed drolly. “What a shame you won’t be here to join us.” He wasn’t able to enjoy the self-satisfaction long as his stomach flip-flopped and bile rushed to his throat. Roger dashed from the landing and through the door, making a beeline for his room.

*****

As the sun began to dip below the tree line, it cast a fiery glow over Collinwood as if to signal that preparations within were almost completed. The drawing-room had been rearranged to accommodate a large circular table and four chairs around it. Atop the table sat a solitary candle waiting to be lit. Elizabeth paced the room, furious to have learned Roger related the séance to Mrs. Johnson. As a result, Elizabeth found herself saddled with the additional stress of Mrs. Johnson’s melodramatic warnings concerning the supernatural. She spent far too long calming the housekeeper down, who eventually agreed to adhere to Elizabeth’s request to leave the house for the evening. 

Carolyn, appearing uncharacteristically quiet, joined her mother and Stokes. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said softly.

“Not at all, darling,” Elizabeth assured her.

Stokes asked, “I trust you were able to prepare yourself for the ceremony?”

“Yes, professor.” Carolyn nodded. “Although I still think you should be the one leading it.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Darling, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, mother. Don’t make a fuss.”

Although Elizabeth remained determined to go through with the séance, she could not help pondering how Carolyn might react upon learning about Jeb’s involvement in the dream. She told herself to remain optimistic about the success of tonight’s ceremony.

Roger — recovered from his hangover — came downstairs wearing his sartorial best. He found Stokes, Elizabeth and Carolyn gathered in the drawing-room, where the professor brandished an old shaving mirror. “Well now, what’s this? Antiques on parade?”

“Roger, please,” admonished Elizabeth. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, then I wish you would go back upstairs.”

“No, dear sister, I’m going to pitch in and do my part,” Roger announced, adding dryly, “although I reserve my right to be skeptical.”

“You can keep your reservations all to yourself,” Elizabeth told him. “But I am pleased that you’ve decided to join us.”

Carolyn piped up, “I’m glad you’re here too, Uncle Roger.”

“I take it you have no objections, Stokes?” Roger was slightly miffed the professor was paying him no attention.

“None whatsoever,” Stokes replied, placing the shaving mirror on the table. “In fact, we should expect even greater results with three members of the Collins family taking part in the séance.”

Roger eyed the mirror suspiciously, and wondered, “What on earth is that for?”

“The mirror? I picked it up in a little shop in the village this afternoon. Our spirit has an affinity for reflective surfaces. I thought it would be prudent to have a mirror close by just in case.”

“Just in case of what?”

Carolyn answered on Stokes’ behalf, “If the ghost wants to communicate through it. There has been a couple of attempts already.”

Roger tried his best not to roll his eyes at what he thought was a ludicrous suggestion. “So, you’re hoping to use it as a spirit television? Can we change the channel if there’s nothing interesting to watch?”

“Roger!” an infuriated Elizabeth berated her brother. “You’re being deliberately difficult and I won’t have you —” An almighty knock on the mansion’s front door interrupted her mid-sentence. “I wonder who could that be?” she said, excusing herself to answer the door. As she crossed the foyer, Elizabeth found her thoughts in a whirl of frustration and concern over what the night held for them. In fact, she was so distracted that the two figures on the other side of the door took her completely by surprise. “Barnabas?! Julia?!”

“Elizabeth,” her handsome cousin greeted her. “We’re home.” 

Standing beside him, Julia smiled at Elizabeth and said in her rich, husky voice, “We would have called or sent a letter but Barnabas insisted we return as soon as possible.”

Recovering from the shock, Elizabeth stepped aside and welcomed the pair inside. “That’s quite all right,” she assured Julia. “I’m relieved to see both of you again. Something has happened while you’ve been away.”

“Barnabas! Julia!” Carolyn called out as she, Roger, and Professor Stokes stepped into the foyer.

“You both left so suddenly, I didn’t think we’d been seeing you again any time soon,” Roger said, making it clear he disapproved of not being informed about the pair’s departure ahead of time.

Stokes voiced his own curiosity, “If you don’t mind my asking, why were you so insistent to return?”

Barnabas and Julia exchanged glances before the latter stated, “A dream."


	4. Shattered: Chapter Four by R.C. Moore

On this night at Collinwood, an experiment to learn the identity of the woman haunting the dreams of those who live at the Great Estate has gone awry. A malignant force has intervened — a force that will cause the Collins family to embark on a desperate venture...

Chapter Four

“A dream?” Elizabeth echoed, glancing back at Roger, Professor Stokes, and Carolyn before ticking her attention back to Julia and Barnabas.

“Yes, Elizabeth,” Barnabas confirmed, removing his Inverness cloak which Julia dutifully laid on the table beside the staircase. “I know it must sound fantastic but I simply could not ignore it.”

Julia started to remove her gloves as she said, “I did my best to talk him out of returning and convince him it was merely a dream.”

“It’s a good thing you followed your instincts, Barnabas,” Professor Stokes said, startling both newcomers.

Barnabas raised a quizzical brow. “What do you mean?”

“Roger, Carolyn, and I have all experienced the dream in one form or another,” Elizabeth explained, somehow unsurprised to learn another member of her family had been subjected to the nightmare.

“About a woman falling to her death from Widows’ Hill?” Barnabas asked, ticking his gaze between Elizabeth, Roger, and Carolyn for confirmation.

Elizabeth clasped her hands together and nodded. “Yes.”

“You have?” Julia gasped, stunned. “But how? How is this possible?”

“That’s what we’re hoping to find out,” Stokes related, secretly intrigued that Barnabas was now involved. “Carolyn and I have been working on finding a solution to the problem.”

“And that is?” Barnabas prompted, not quite understanding the implications.

“We’re going to perform a séance,” clarified Carolyn, pointing to the table visible through the drawing-room doors.

“What? Why?” Barnabas took a step forward with his treasured wolf’s head cane in hand.

Roger dryly filled in the missing pieces, “Professor Stokes believes we’re dealing with a ghost.”

Elizabeth frowned and jumped in before her brother could convince everyone this was a plan born of hysteria. “Eliot, Carolyn, and I have seen it. There’s something going on in this house and I’m going to find out what it is. I must!”

“Mother is convinced the woman in the dream needs our help,” Carolyn added for good measure.

“Barnabas is certain of that as well,” Julia said, unable to hide her skepticism.

“Do you have any idea who the woman could be?” Elizabeth asked Barnabas, hoping that the nightmare might have revealed something more to him.

Barnabas folded his hands over the top of his cane and answered with a solemn, “No, I wish I did. I take it that her identity remains a mystery then?”

“Yes,” Stokes replied, absently thumbing the chain his monocle was attached to. “I find it curious this dream has the power to reach out beyond the confines of Collinwood.”

Julia, who had been listening intently, pulled at the bottom of her jacket in consternation. “What has been happening since the dream started?”

Carolyn related the presence in her room, the shattering of her and her mother’s mirrors, and the vision she experienced. Her voice grew tremulous as she spoke about the figure that had appeared to her, “A-and I saw...”

“Who?” Julia asked with breathless intensity. “Who did you see, Carolyn? You must tell us.”

“Jeb,” Elizabeth answered for her daughter, draping a comforting arm across Carolyn’s shoulders.

“Jeb?” gasped Julia, her gaze cutting to Barnabas in disbelief.

“That’s impossible,” Barnabas declared, unwilling to entertain the possibility.

“Why? Why is it impossible?” Carolyn demanded angrily. “Barnabas, you of all people know that anything is possible in this house.”

Elizabeth quickly came to her daughter’s defense. “Barnabas, Julia — I believe her.”

“As do I,” Stokes gave his support.

Roger stood aghast to learn of this latest development. “Why am I just hearing about this now?” he asked, offended to have been left out of the loop.

Without missing a beat, Elizabeth threw over her shoulder, “If you had been sufficiently sober, you might have learned about it earlier.”

Roger, having no shot to return, found his world turned upside down. Of those gathered, only he, Julia, and Barnabas knew the truth of Jeb’s true nature. He could not begin to imagine the trauma his niece might have suffered seeing her deceased husband again.

An awkward silence fell upon the room until Professor Stokes cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind his back, and addressed the assembled group. “This is clearly a shock to everyone, but we must remember we’re dealing with a highly unusual situation. The dream or nightmare is generating a vast amount of spiritual energy and I’m frankly surprised it has not drawn even more souls beyond the veil to Collinwood.”

It was a sobering thought and one that brought a halt to any question about holding a séance. Surprisingly, Roger spoke up, “When should we begin?”

Stokes checked his pocket watch against the foyer’s 176-year-old grandfather clock, and then replied, “An hour. That should give us all enough time to prepare for what lies ahead.” Excusing himself, he returned to the drawing-room and sat down beside the fireplace.

Carolyn’s temper settled to soft steam as she absently picked at a cuticle. “Barnabas,” she addressed her cousin, “you never answered my question — why do you think it’s impossible for Jeb to appear?”

“Carolyn, I’m sure Barnabas only meant to spare your feelings,” Julia attempted to be diplomatic.

“I doubt that.” Carolyn spoke her mind, “You and Barnabas always seem to know things we don’t — ”

“Carolyn, that’s not true,” Barnabas interjected with an affirming tap of his cane into the floor.

“It is,” she insisted, growing more upset. “If you’re keeping something about Jeb from me, I want to know now.”

A subdued Barnabas gently reiterated, “I assure you, Carolyn. Neither Julia or I would keep anything of importance from you.”

Carolyn gave a sigh of frustration and Elizabeth gave her arm a comforting squeeze, advising her daughter, “Why don’t you join Professor Stokes in the drawing-room, darling? I’d like to speak to Barnabas and Julia alone.” She glanced up at her brother and prompted, “Roger?”

Roger took his cue and guided his distressed niece from the foyer. After he closed the drawing-room doors, Elizabeth exhaled and turned a meaningful gaze toward Julia and Barnabas. “Carolyn’s been very upset, I hope you’ll both forgive her,” she began, only to add, “But she’s right about one thing — you two have always had more knowledge than you’re willing to share with the rest of us.” Both Julia and Barnabas started to protest, only for Elizabeth to press forward her advantage. “It’s true, but I’ll accept that neither of you would willingly hurt Carolyn.”

“Elizabeth, you have my word,” Barnabas insisted, to which Julia added with a heartfelt, “You must know how fond of Carolyn I am.”

“And I,” Julia added.

Seemingly pacified, Elizabeth’s mood transformed into a warmer one. “Well, I’m sure this wasn’t the homecoming you were expecting. I hardly knew what to think when you both left so suddenly.”

“I had hoped my letter would sufficiently explain my need for a change of scenery,” Barnabas said regretfully.

Julia, a master of distraction, stepped in and inquired, “Elizabeth, when did you start to experience the dream?”

Elizabeth clasped her hands together and glanced away into the distance. “Seven days ago — every night for a week,” she told them.

“Every night?” Julia echoed, stunned.

“Yes, it’s been more of a nightmare than a dream. I thought I would lose my mind if it went on. That’s why I brought Carolyn home, but it proved to be too much for her to handle. She called Eliot and he decided that a séance might give us some answers.”

“What is he hoping to learn?” Julia wondered, her raspy voice filled with urgency.

“The identity of the woman in the dream,” Elizabeth answered, adding, “He believes we’ll be able to help her if we can discover who she is.”

“How does Jeb fit into all this?” asked Barnabas, offering a contrite, “Forgive me, Elizabeth, I did not mean to bring up the subject again but I must confess to feeling a little lost. I suppose that is where my reaction to Carolyn’s claim to have seen him came from.”

Elizabeth cast a furtive glance at the drawing-room doors to be sure they were firmly closed. Then, she took Barnabas and Julia aside and confided, “In the dream, I heard Jeb’s voice — it was horrible — he was laughing, enjoying the torment of that poor woman falling to her death.”

“I heard nothing like that in my dream,” Barnabas confessed, sharing an expression of unease with Julia.

“What could it mean?” Julia asked, at a loss for a plausible explanation.

Elizabeth shook her head, clearly distressed by the possibilities. “I don’t know — I don’t understand any of it. More importantly, Carolyn must not be hurt. She’s still grieving and I hate to think of what this might do to her.”

Julia and Barnabas nodded in unison. “I promise to do everything in my power to protect Carolyn,” the latter promised.

“Barnabas, I am happy you’re back.” Elizabeth smiled, feeling as if Collinwood had regained some of its strength with her cousin’s return. “And you too, Julia. How many times I wished you had both been here earlier.”

“We’re here now, Elizabeth, and you’re not alone,” Julia reassured her.

“Thank you,” the Collins matriarch said with heartfelt affection. “Now, I had better check on Carolyn. If you’ll both excuse me?” Elizabeth moved to the drawing-room doors, which she opened and disappeared inside.

After the doors had closed, Julia whispered conspiratorially, “Barnabas, I had no idea things were as bad as this.”

“That is why I insisted we return,” Barnabas said in a hushed tone. “I could feel it in the dream — that something was happening at Collinwood.”

“Yes,” Julia clicked her tongue, “but who could the woman in the dream be?” She gazed pensively over Barnabas’ shoulder at the 18th-century portrait of himself, the one the rest of the family believed depicted his direct ancestor. Only Julia knew the truth — that Barnabas Collins was, in fact, a vampire and that the painting represented him before he had been cursed by the scorned witch, Angélique Bouchard, in the year 1795.

Once lovers, Barnabas did not know of Angélique’s true nature until it was too late. He tossed what he believed to be a mere servant girl aside the moment he first met her mistress, Josette duPrés, whose charm and beauty stole his heart away. Angélique, however, had other ideas. In an attempt to half Josette and Barnabas’ marriage, she compelled her mistress into marrying Barnabas’ bewitched uncle, Jeremiah Collins. When that failed to send Barnabas running back into her arms, Angélique embarked on a campaign of terror, ultimately cursing as one of the undead in retaliation for his betrayal. And yet, Barnabas’ love for Josette endured. To prevent Josette from becoming Barnabas’ vampire bride, Angélique conjured a horrific vision of what the future held for her. Josette, terrified of her beloved Barnabas, jumped to her death from Widows’ Hill.

Barnabas, devastated by the loss of Josette, eventually allowed his father, Joshua Collins, who had learned his son’s terrible secret, to chain him in a coffin and hidden in a secret room within the Collins family mausoleum for all eternity... Only for fate to intervene 171 years later, when Willie Loomis raided the mausoleum in search of fabled jewels to steal. Instead of treasure, Willie discovered Barnabas’ chained coffin and unwittingly released the vampire into the world of 1966. Barnabas adapted quickly to the 20th century, forcing Willie to become his servant and ingratiating himself with the modern-day Collins family by pretending to be an English cousin and the direct descendant of the original Barnabas Collins.

Barnabas took it upon himself to restore the Old House — the original Collinwood mansion — and became obsessed with resurrecting his lost love, Josette. He found a likely candidate in waitress Maggie Evans, who he kidnapped and attempted to brainwash her into believing she truly was Josette. Maggie, having gone insane, escaped with the help of Sarah Collins, the ghost of Barnabas’ 9-year-old sister. Brought to Windcliff Sanitarium in secret, Maggie began treatment under the care of Dr. Julia Hoffman, psychologist, and blood specialist. Maggie’s incoherent ramblings had intrigued Julia enough to visit Collinwood, where she would experience a fateful meeting with Barnabas Collins.

Their relationship — to put it mildly — had been adversarial at first, with Barnabas’ distrust of Julia’s motives always in question. Julia genuinely believed she could cure his vampirism and it was a conviction she held onto throughout the years. She and Barnabas had evolved from uneasy allies to the closest of friends, stronger together than apart. They had faced so much together and how, here they were again, attempting to unravel another mystery threatening the Collins family.

“Barnabas, you’ve ruled out Josette,” Julia reminded him, “and we’ve both dismissed other possibilities. I simply cannot imagine what we’re dealing with.”

“Perhaps Stokes’ suggestion is best,” Barnabas said softly.

Julia was not convinced. “This business with Jeb... it frightens me, Barnabas.” She shivered as if chilled to the bone. “Why would he appear to Carolyn now?”

“I don’t know, Julia. I don’t like the implications. We’re dealing with too many unknowns.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have come back?”

“No, we had to it. We’ve discussed this before, Julia. Something about that dream wanted me here at Collinwood. I could not ignore the call even if I had tried.”

“That’s what worries me. Barnabas, oh, Barnabas — what if this is all some terrible trick to bring us all together?”

“Then, we shall face it together,” he replied with steely determination. “Did you notice Elizabeth’s eyes? She has always had an inner strength that shines through. But tonight, all I saw was a desperate, haunted woman.”

“Yes, I suppose we must go through with the séance,” Julia agreed, realizing there was no other choice in the matter. “At the very least, maybe it will bring her peace of mind.”

*****

The minutes ticked by as Elizabeth, Carolyn, Roger, Professor Stokes, Julia, and Barnabas waited for the appointed time for the séance to begin. Carolyn, having sufficiently calmed herself, meditated in a quiet corner while the others gathered together to discuss Barnabas and Julia’s impromptu trip.

“Singapore?” Roger found the idea baffling. “What the devil made you two want to go there?”

“Well, I have always had an interest in different cultures,” Barnabas explained, each word fairly dripping with charm and elegance. “And when I mentioned it to Julia, she thought it would be a perfect time for a trip.”

“Yes,” Julia enthused, “sometimes you have to be impulsive and head off on an adventure. Plus, I thought a change of scenery would do us both a world of good.”

“If you’re looking for adventure, then you would have been better off staying right here,” Roger pointed out dryly.

Elizabeth chose to ignore her brother’s remark. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. I’m only sorry that you had to cancel your plans on account of what’s happening at Collinwood.”

“Please don’t apologize, Elizabeth,” Barnabas said. “Our ship wasn’t due to leave Boston for another three days.”

“Well then, perhaps you’ll still be able to keep your plans once this is over?” Elizabeth sounded hopeful.

Julia offered a tentative smile before glancing at Barnabas for reassurance. “Perhaps,” she agreed. Another deception masked in truth. Having stumbled across an obscure occult text, Julia found a promising reference to curing vampirism with a rare species of plant found only in Singapore. Instead of Barnabas constantly enduring injections to fight against the destructive cells in his body, he could be completely human again. Some would call it a pipe dream but Julia had managed to convince Barnabas it was a risk worth taking. Only neither she or Barnabas could have fathomed that a nightmare would bring them right back to Collinsport.

“Singapore seems a fascinating choice,” Stokes commented, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I’m rather curious to know why you selected it in all the places in the world?”

Barnabas and Julia exchanged furtive glances before the chimes of the foyer’s grandfather clock signaled the hour. Carolyn opened her eyes, took a deep breath, stood up, and announced, “It’s time.”

“Before we begin,” Stokes addressed the group, “I think it pertinent for you all to know that Carolyn has made tremendous progress in her studies. Which is why I have asked her to lead the ceremony.”

Carolyn explained, “I think what Professor Stokes is trying to say is don’t be alarmed if someone speaks through me.”

“Isn’t this how these dreadful little affairs work?” Roger smirked.

“This is different, Uncle Roger,” Carolyn insisted, and then said with a note of hesitation. “I have a... spirit guide.”

“A what?” Roger asked as if it was the most absurd thing anyone had ever said.

“Carolyn, why haven’t you mentioned this before?” wondered Elizabeth, her tone weighted with concern.

Carolyn sighed, “Because I knew it would upset you, mother.”

“What is a spirit guide?” Julia asked, genuinely intrigued by the concept.

Stokes related, “To put it simply, an entity that remains as a disincarnate spirit who acts as a guide or protector to a living human being. There is no need to be alarmed, I can assure you Carolyn’s guide is quite benign. Mischievous, but benign.”

“Stokes, what on earth have you been teaching my niece?” Roger huffed.

Stokes found himself in an uncomfortable position of offering an explanation, which he loathed as it wasted valuable time. “When Carolyn enters a trance, she is possessed by the spirit of a powerful medium who has spoken through Carolyn before. She has only recently discovered this ability. That, Roger, is one of the many things your niece had learned.”

“I’m not sure if I should feel relieved or concerned,” Elizabeth admitted, unsettled by the thought of yet another spirit influencing her daughter’s life.

“There’s nothing to worry about, mother,” Carolyn reassured her. “I promise.”

Professor Stokes lit the candle on the table where the others took their seats. Carolyn positioned herself across from him, while Roger and Elizabeth sat on one side and Julia and Barnabas on the other. As if the forces of nature sensed the ceremony was about to take place, a peal of thunder rumbled through Collinwood’s walls as a storm began to break outside.

“Now, we must all spread our hands on the table with our fingers touching,” Carolyn instructed despite the fact her family was well-versed in the rituals of a séance.

“Good, Carolyn, go on,” Stokes encouraged his student, placing the shaving mirror before him. Then, laid his palms on the cool surface of the mahogany table and touched his fingers against Roger’s and Barnabas’, respectively.

“Clear your minds,” Carolyn continued, “and focus on Widows’ Hill. Picture a woman with long, dark hair and wearing a red dress standing close to the edge. She needs our help and we must be receptive to her.” She paused, allowing the assembled group time to concentrate on their task. Then, Carolyn spoke into the ether, “We do not know your name, but you have visited some of us in a dream. We are gathered here tonight to help you. You will hear me calling to you. You will hear my voice and you will come to me. You must not be afraid. Please, give us a sign that you can hear me.”

Thunder boomed over Collinwood as a torrent of rain splashed against the drawing-room’s bay window. Elizabeth’s heart fluttered as she licked her bottom lip nervously. What might she be bringing upon her loved ones? The thought of that poor girl crying out for help had become an obsession. Her loneliness and despair had threatened to swallow Elizabeth just like the woman trapped in that horrible black void.

Suddenly, Carolyn closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. “Carolyn?” Elizabeth whispered in concern, only to be hushed by Stokes, who informed them all, “Someone is trying to make contact,” while Carolyn whimpered and started to tremble slightly.

Elizabeth, however, refused to be silent where her daughter was concerned. “Carolyn? Carolyn, can you hear me? Are you all right?”

“This has gone far enough, Stokes!” Roger exploded, only to be startled when Carolyn abruptly went still, tossed her head back, and laughed.

“Carolyn? Me name be Leticia — Leticia Faye, and that’s what ye can call me,” Carolyn said in a thick Cockney accent.

“Leticia?!” Barnabas exclaimed, sharing a glance of surprise with Julia. Leticia Faye was a psychic medium he and Julia met during their trip to the year 1840, where they successfully prevented the warlock, Judah Zachary, from enacting his revenge against the Collins family.

“Aye,” the possessed Carolyn confirmed, “Leticia or Miss Faye, that’s ‘ow a lady’s addressed ain’t she?”

If Carolyn has not prepared them for being possessed by a spirit guide, Elizabeth might have called a halt to the ceremony right then and there. “Miss Faye,” Elizabeth faltered, “did you cause the nightmare?”

“Nightmare?” Carolyn/Leticia echoed. “Oh, ‘eck no. I only see visions, tell people their futures, never nightmares. Saint’s alive.”

“Then, do you know...” Again, Elizabeth stumbled over her words. ”...do you know who the woman in my dream is?”

“Oh, really!” Roger attempted to stand and break contact, only for Stokes to bellow, “Sit down, Roger! If we stop now, it could irrecoverably harm Carolyn.”

Suitably cowed, Roger sat back down. He would never willingly take any action to harm his niece. And yet his mind warred for some kind of logical explanation, anything to make sense of what was happening.

“Hang on a minute.” A sly smile etched itself across Carolyn’s features. “Is ‘at the Professor? Professor Stokes? ‘ere, if you needed me help, why didn’t ye come right out an’ ask for it?”

Stokes challenged, “You only seem to speak through Carolyn when it suits you. Your presence here now can only mean you have something important to share.”

Carolyn/Leticia laughed, “You’re a crafty one.” Then, she grew serious, her eyes tightly shut. “There is a presence in this ‘ouse. He didn’t come ‘ere ‘imself. Someone forced him to.”

“Who? For what purpose?” Stokes pressed.

“To tell his tale.” She gasped, and then mewled sadly, “Oh, and it’s a ‘orrible one to be sure. Somethin’ ‘appened a long, long time ago.”

“Leticia, is the presence Jeb Hawkes? Is he connected to the dream?”

“It’s Miss Faye, or did you forget, Professor?” Carolyn/Leticia chided, only to pause as if deep in thought. “Oh, yes. Jeb’s got somethin’ to do with that nightmare. I wouldn’t wish that dream on anyone. He did somethin’ terrible to that girl, somethin’ ‘e’s goin’ to ‘ave to be payin’ for.”

Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. If she was right and the voice she heard did belong to Jeb Hawkes, then what did he do... and to whom? “Can he speak?” she asked, growing distraught. “Can he tell us what happened?”

“I dunno, missus. Ye’ll be headin’ for nothin’ but heartbreak if ‘e tells.”

Alarmed, Elizabeth snapped, “Why? What makes you say that?”

“Cause ye be knowin’ that girl ‘e hurt. Ye know ‘er very well indeed.”

Elizabeth implored, “Miss Faye, please? Who is she? All I want to do is help her if I can. I’ll do anything.”

“Be careful watch ye ask for, missus.” Carolyn/Leticia hissed, “I’ll give ‘im a little push, but don’t say I didn’t warn ye.”

“Look!” Julia exclaimed, and all eyes were drawn to the shaving mirror which began to spin on its own.

“We must stop this,” Roger protested.

“No, no!” Elizabeth shouted, “I can’t go on reliving that dream. I must know!”

Lightning cracked outside the windows, causing flickering flashes of white to fill the drawing-room. The shaving mirror spun faster until the glass began to crack as if something were trying to break through to the other side. Julia and Elizabeth alternately screamed and gasped as the mirror shattered and hurled itself off the table, crashing against a wall. There, in the corner, Elizabeth could make out a sickly yellow glow, and from within it appeared the specter of Jeb Hawkes. She screamed and the others, all but Carolyn who had grown deathly still and silent, turned their heads to look at the figure.

“Jeb Hawkes!” Barnabas could not believe his eyes. Carolyn’s husband, the leader of the sinister Leviathan cult, had appeared before them. Carolyn truly had seen him, but his ghost looked like something out of a nightmare. One half of his body was gruesomely decayed, while the other half undulated like a serpent. And yet it was unmistakably Jeb Hawkes.

Julia tensed and exchanged a nervous glance with Barnabas. What power could have compelled Jeb to return? What might he say? Would he betray Barnabas’ secret to the others? Before Julia could fret over the dire ramifications, Professor Stokes sat forward and implored the ghost, “Jeb Hawkes, why are you here? Is it for Carolyn? Do you have a message for her?”

“There is little time,” Jeb declared, his voice emanating from far away. “You must hear my story. I have to confess the crime I have committed.”

“Crime? What crime?” Of all the things Stokes might have anticipated, he had not prepared himself for this.

Jeb’s image became indistinct for a moment, fizzling like a bad television connection — all snow and white noise.

“Concentrate!” Stokes urged those assembled around the table. “All of you — concentrate on Jeb, lend him your strength.”

Jeb’s visage stabilized and he began to speak again, “I have lived many times. When the stars are right, I am born and given to a couple to raise. But they never succeed. Something always intervenes and then they wait to start all over again. In 1797, a man fulfilled his debt to them. They allowed him to travel to the future to be reunited with a woman he loved, but only if he agreed to bring her back with him to the past. She was a very special woman they had selected to raise me. But as I matured, I tormented her with dreams and visions of the horrors I would unleash upon the world. I delighted in her misery as I slowly drove her insane. She ran to escape me, tearing through the woods toward Widows’ Hill. Frightened and delirious, she fell from the cliff, and then her lover murdered me as I had murdered her.” Collinwood itself shuddered as he claimed, “I KILLED VICTORIA WINTERS!”

“Vicki?!” Elizabeth cried out in heartwrenching anguish, “No, no!”

Shock raced through the room. Thunder roared and lightning crackled.

“That can’t be!” shouted Barnabas, every fiber of his being denying Jeb’s testimony.

Jeb repeated his actions like a mantra, “I killed Victoria Winters. I killed Victoria Winters. I killed Victoria Winters.”

“It’s not true,” Barnabas reiterated. “This is cruel, inhuman.”

“I killed Victoria Winters but...” Confusion twisted Jeb’s ever contorting features. “Something happened... something unnatural. She fell and... disappeared... and now she’s trapped. Trapped in the void between heaven and hell. And while she suffers, so will I. You must save her.”

“How?” Barnabas growled, using all his willpower not to leap across the room and tear Jeb to pieces.

“Elizabeth. Collins. Stoddard,” Jeb punctuated the Collins matriarch’s name. “You are the only one who can save Victoria Winters and set me free. Save Victoria Winters. Help her. Save her. Help her. Save her...” His image began to fade until only his words echoed out of existence.

Just as suddenly as the storm began, it abruptly halted and the candle on the table extinguished itself and plunged the room into darkness and confusion.

“Vicki,” Elizabeth wept, collapsing in a heap on the table. “Oh, my poor Vicki.”

“Someone turn on the lights!” Roger shouted, moving to his sister’s side.

The psychic contact having broken, Carolyn slowly regained her senses and she heard people scrambling around her. “What — what’s happening?” She opened her eyes and the world came into focus. Although Leticia Faye’s spirit had possessed her, the events of the séance rushed to fill her mind with the heartbreaking revelations that had taken place. “Jeb,” she began softly, only to scream his name again in anguish.

Professor Stokes lit a match and found his way to the light switch, turning it on and blinking as the room was illuminated. Julia knelt beside Elizabeth to check her pulse. “Barnabas, would you get my medical bag?” she asked, to which he was unresponsive. “Barnabas?”

Barnabas distanced himself from the others, his eyes filled with a mixture of rage and regret, while he grasped his cane until his knuckles turned white. How could Jeb’s decree be true? After saying farewell, Victoria left to join Peter Bradford on a boat to leave Collinsport forever. The pair of them were wanted fugitives; if they had stayed, then the authorities would have executed them both. How could they have remained in 1797? Barnabas’ mind raced feverishly. He had not seen them actually board a ship. Indeed, his last glimpse of Vicki had been of her exiting Collinwood to join Peter...

'No! I refuse to believe it. Vicki was safe and free to start her life elsewhere. It cannot be true! It can’t!'

“Barnabas?” Julia called again, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Julia?” He blinked at Julia, as if not seeing her properly at first.

“Barnabas, it’s been a shock for all of us.” She gripped his arms gently but firmly, forcing him to meet her gaze. “But I need my medical bag. It’s in the car, remember?”

Barnabas regained a little of his focus, even as his expression betrayed the turmoil of emotions warring inside of him. “Yes, of course,” he said shakily, leaving the drawing-room.

Julia returned to Elizabeth, who had been helped to the sofa by Roger while Professor Stokes steadied Carolyn as she trembled and fought against the urge to completely fall to pieces. Barnabas returned shortly afterward with Julia’s medical bag in hand. She thanked him before opening it and reaching inside for a small bottle of smelling salts.

“Mother?” Carolyn knelt by Elizabeth’s side, brushing away the fresh tears glistening on her cheeks. “Julia, what’s happened?”

Julia waved the bottle of smelling salts under Elizabeth’s nose, and then explained, “Your mother fainted, Carolyn. She will be all right.”

Elizabeth coughed and startled awake. Carolyn’s lovely face etched with concern, came into focus. “Carolyn? Oh, Carolyn, it’s awful... I’m sorry, darling... truly...”

“Mother, you don’t have to apologize,” Carolyn said shakily. “What we experienced, I don’t believe it was real.”

“Carolyn, how can you say that?” Roger asked, aghast.

Professor Stokes gestured with a calming hand. “Carolyn, I would not even begin to try and understand the pain you’re feeling. However, denying what has been revealed here tonight will only serve to hurt you more.”

Carolyn angrily snapped, “I know Jeb! How could he hurt Vicki? He would never harm her or anyone else for that matter.”

“Carolyn!” Barnabas growled, “You...” He paused, fighting to control his emotions. “I don’t want to believe it any more than you do. But Jeb appeared, he confessed and now we know who the woman in the dream is.”

“Yes,” Stokes agreed thoughtfully, “only I never could have imagined Miss Winters is involved.”

Elizabeth gasped painfully at the mention of Vicki. She recalled the last moment she saw the governess and how Vicki disappeared into the past before her very eyes. There had been nothing either she or Barnabas could do to prevent it. Vicki was determined to be reunited with Peter Bradford in the 18th century and that’s exactly what happened. Without Vicki, life at Collinwood had never been the same. Elizabeth had prayed for nothing but happiness to follow Vicki and it devastated her to learn of the governess’s dark fate.

“We really should help Elizabeth to her room,” Julia advised, adding, “I can give her a sedative to calm her nerves.”

“I don’t want a sedative and I have no desire to be calm!” shouted Elizabeth, attempting to sit bolt upright. “Julia, do you honestly believe a sedative will make me forget everything we’ve just learned?”

“No, I suppose it won’t,” the doctor sheepishly admitted.

Roger placed a protective arm around his sister, squeezing her shoulder in a silent display of support. “Stokes, is it true? Jeb was alive in another time? The one Vicki disappeared to?”

“I’m afraid so,” Stokes gravely confirmed.

Carolyn shook her head, and close to hysterics, declared, “Stop saying that! None of this can be true. You don’t know Jeb.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” demanded Roger, fed up with the whole night’s events. “You barely knew Jeb before you married him.”

“You never liked Jeb, Uncle Roger. Go on and admit it.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Roger agreed. “I did not like Jeb and as it turns out my instincts were correct!”

Carolyn ignored her uncle, opting to vent her wrath on Professor Stokes. “You know how easily trickster spirits can appear,” she pointed out, desperately searching for an explanation. “Couldn’t that have happened here tonight?”

“No, Carolyn.” Stokes hated to be blunt, but his student needed to face the truth. “As much as it pains me to admit it, Jeb appeared to us and at some point in a past life he perpetuated a terrible act.”

Tears spilled freely from Carolyn’s eyes. “I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it! If he really hurt Vicki, if he did all of those terrible things... then, I never really knew him, did I? But that person, he wasn’t the man I loved.”

“That man is the one you must not forget.” It was Julia who spoke up, approaching Carolyn in a gentle, calming tone. “Hold onto that memory, Carolyn.” She clasped her hands together, steepling her fingers as she stressed, “You loved him and your love changed him.”

Elizabeth's heart went out to Carolyn and sympathy momentarily eclipsed her loathing of Jeb. “Carolyn, darling, this has been too much for you — for all of us.” She stood up, her entire being filled with a steely determination. Elizabeth fixed her gaze on Stokes and asked, “Eliot, truthfully, is there any way we can help Vicki?”

“I wish I had an easy answer, Elizabeth. I’m afraid this is outside my breadth of knowledge.”

Roger shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, so what are you saying? We’ve all been wasting our time?”

“No, I am not saying that, Roger. From Jeb’s description, it very much sounds like Miss Winters is trapped in limbo. Neither dead nor living. We cannot communicate with her directly, but somehow Jeb has become her voice.”

“Then, what can we do?” Julia asked, growing more concerned about Barnabas’ quiet seething.

Stokes sighed, “It will take a great deal of time, research, and consulting those better-versed in this area.”

Elizabeth took a moment to drink this in. Then, undefeated, she announced, “We are going to help Vicki. I don’t care how much it costs or how many experts we need. But I refuse to believe there’s no hope. Vicki managed to contact us for help and that’s exactly what we’re going to give her.” She glanced around the room, her gaze seemingly daring anyone to object to her decision.

Seeing that everyone was in agreement, Roger — much to Elizabeth’s surprise — took charge and suggested, “I think it’s best if we weigh our options tomorrow. We’ve all been through a great deal tonight.”

“Thank you, Roger,” Elizabeth said softly. “All of you — thank you.”

“For what?” Carolyn cried out. “To find out Jeb murdered my best friend?”

“Carolyn, please —” Elizabeth started, only for her daughter to run out of the drawing-room in tears. She raced through the foyer and up the staircase before anyone could intervene. “I must go to her.”

“Liz, maybe she needs some time alone?” opined Roger.

“To dwell on everything she’s learned? No, I won’t allow her to endure this by herself.” With that, Elizabeth excused herself and followed after Carolyn. 

Roger found himself at a loss. “Well, I don’t know what to make of all this. What do you think, Barnabas?” He turned to find his cousin had left the room without any of them noticing. 

“Barnabas?” Julia gasped, her hand balling into a fist and flying to her mouth in anguish. She started out of the drawing-room in search of him.

“Julia, shouldn’t you remain here in case you’re needed?” Stokes asked, moving after her.

Julia shook her head, already crossing the foyer and heading for the door. “I’ll be back,” she promised, adding, “but I must find Barnabas first.”

After she left the house, Stokes and Roger shared the awkward silence of each other’s company. Roger, his hands clasped behind his back, found himself saddled with the responsibility of being genial to someone he had behaved unbearably rude to. “Stokes,” he began, “I hope you’ll accept my apology. We’ve enjoyed such peace here, and I stubbornly did not want anything — supernatural or otherwise — disrupting our lives again.”

“I can certainly understand that,” Stokes acknowledged. “And there’s no need to apologize, Roger. I find apologies something of a bore as people hardly ever mean them.”

“Well, I do,” Roger reiterated. “I’m terribly worried about Liz and Carolyn. I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around what we’ve learned tonight.”

Stokes nodded. “I’m quite concerned about this ‘someone’ Miss Faye mentioned. The one who forced Jeb’s spirit to appear.”

“Whoever it is, I’d like to buy them a drink. If Jeb Hawkes is suffering in the great hereafter, it won’t stop me from sleeping like a baby tonight.”

Just then, the door at the top of the stairs opened and Elizabeth reappeared. Although she still possessed a will of iron, her stance spoke of a woman weighed down with uneasiness. “Carolyn locked herself in her room and she wouldn’t answer me,” the Collins matriarch announced.

“Liz, I told you she needs some time alone,” Roger restated.

“If you think it might help, I could try talking to her,” Stokes offered, reaching for Elizabeth’s hand as she stepped down from the staircase.

“Would you, Eliot?” Elizabeth said gratefully. “She needs me, I know she does. But there’s nothing I can say or do to ease the pain she’s feeling.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Stokes said, heading up the stairs, across the landing, and through the door leading to the second floor.

Alone with his sister, Roger led her back inside the drawing-room. “Come Liz dear, you rest.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to rest again, Roger. Oh, how could everything have gone so wrong?”

“Well, if you’re referring to the séance, I won’t be exceedingly obnoxious and say ‘I told you so’.”

“No, I am not talking about the séance. I mean us — the Collins family. It seems we’re destined for a lifetime of unhappiness. Maybe David was right to leave when he did — to get away from Collinwood and the misery it caused.”

Roger found himself taken aback. “Liz, this doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Doesn’t it?” Elizabeth countered with an arched brow. “The past follows us, Roger. No matter how far ahead of it we think we are. It follows us.”

*****

Outside, Julia picked her way through the well-traveled short cut leading toward the Old House. Her only stop had been to retrieve a flashlight from her car. The beam illuminated the trees, whose leaves glistened with the evidence of the thunderstorm. Each step proved hazardous as her shoes warred over the choice of either sticking or sliding in the damp ground.

“Barnabas?” Julia called out frantically. “Barnabas, please answer me!”

Barnabas had never been one to keep his emotions bottled up. And Julia feared what action he might take. After her hard work to stabilize the destructive vampire gene in his cells, it would be disastrous if Barnabas reverted and attacked someone now. She told herself not to think about that possibility. She hoped against hope that Barnabas simply left Collinwood to clear his head.

Julia stumbled upon the fence leading up to the Old House’s grounds. She froze as she placed a hand on a displaced beam and heard the sound of dogs howling in the distance. Her heart plummeted. The incessant barking could only mean one thing — Barnabas was angry, very angry. And that prospect frightened Julia more than anything else in the world.

She shook her head and cried plaintively, “Barnabas, oh Barnabas...”


	5. Shattered: Chapter Five by R.C. Moore

Collinwood stands as a monument to the hopes, loves, and dreams of all those who lived there. Its gloomy corridors containing the dust of madness, greed, and death, as if the very ground the great house was built upon was cursed. And yet the Collins family perseveres. They will need all their strength as the past returns to haunt a mother and a daughter...

Chapter Five

Willie Loomis combed his fingers through his shaggy blond hair as he left the Old House’s kitchen and started to extinguish the candles on his way toward the staircase. To this day, Barnabas refused to desecrate the house’s structure with necessities such as electricity. Willie managed to grow accustomed to the lack of modern conveniences, although he had to admit one or two might have been nice. It was amazing what you could become used to, he reflected.

When he first arrived in Collinsport, Willie Loomis had been a very different man indeed. An ex-con with no interest beyond finding his next big score, he had paid dearly for defiling the Collins Mausoleum in search of hidden jewels. Instead of treasure, he discovered a secret room housing a chained coffin. And within, the Collins family’s greatest secret — Barnabas Collins, an 18th-century vampire — and Willie’s life had never been the same.

One last candle flickered as Willie raised the snuffer, which nearly fell from his grasp as a frantic knocking at the front door startled him. “Who is it?” he called out nervously.

“Willie, it’s Julia,” he heard her distinct voice from the other side of the door.

“Julia?!” Willie hurried to open the door and a breathless Julia tumbled inside.

“Is Barnabas here?” she asked, concern etched across her features.

“No, I-I thought you and Barnabas would’ve been long gone by now,” he stammered worriedly.

Julia fought to catch her breath. “We would have been but something brought us back to Collinwood. It’s a long story and I haven’t the time to explain.”

The howling of dogs echoed through the trees and Willie gave an involuntary shiver. “Th-that sound!” he stuttered, knowing all too well what it meant.

“Yes,” Julia confirmed, switching her flashlight back on. “Barnabas learned some upsetting news and Willie... Willie, I’m terribly afraid of what he might do.”

Willie reached for his coat hanging on the hat stand beside the door. “Then, we’ve gotta find him before somebody gets hurt.”

Julia squeezed his arm with her free hand. “No — Willie, I want you to wait here in case he comes back.”

“But, Julia...” he started to protest.

An idea sparkled in Julia’s eyes as she told Willie, “I think I know where he might have gone. Please, Willie — wait here. If I don’t find him, then I’ll return and we’ll search together.”

Just as quickly as she had arrived, Julia trekked back out into the night. Willie shut the door behind her and fretfully wadded his coat in his hands. “I should’ve known things were goin’ too good around here,” he mumbled to himself. He rested his head back against the door, exhaling deeply as he tried not to work himself into a state of panic over whatever problem had befallen the Collins family.

*****

Barnabas stood on the crest of Widows’ Hill, gazing out at the sea while the wind blustered around him. His grip on his wolf’s head cane tightened as his coat billowed like the wings of a giant bat. He closed his eyes and remembered Victoria Winters — the gentle, loving, and clever governess who had stolen his heart and in turn made him feel human again. At first, he viewed her as the perfect replacement for his dear Josette. Over time, however, he became fond of Vicki for herself and not as a memory of his lost love.

“Oh, Vicki, if I had only known what fate had in store for you,” he mourned aloud. “I would have never left you in that time...”

Time. Barnabas pondered the word. Time had become his worst enemy in many ways. Stealing everyone and everything he ever held close to his heart. He blamed himself, he blamed Angélique’s curse, and he blamed the loathsome Leviathans most of all. Yes, the Leviathans! An otherworldly cult had ensnared him and threatened to bring their race back to supremacy over the world. Their leader, Jebez Hawkes — an incomprehensible, vicious monster — had usurped his followers after he fell in love with Carolyn Stoddard. Jeb longed for human life and to be with Carolyn, only to pay the price when he was pushed to his death from Widows’ Hill.

Poetic justice for his crimes of the past? Although Barnabas had been indoctrinated into the cult, he never knew of the Leviathans’ attempts to return let alone that Jeb existed in 1797 and that he...

“No!” shouted Barnabas, unable to reconcile the fact he left Vicki in the past believing she would live a happy life with Peter Bradford. He struck the earth beneath him angrily with his cane. Blood-lust clouded his vision and he ached to tear into something, anything to release his anger. His fangs glinted in the moonlight as the howling of dogs — sensing his rage — reached a crescendo.

“Barnabas?!” Julia called out. She emerged from the trees and sighed with relief, “I thought you might be here.” Taking a step forward, Julia stiffened at the sight before her. “Barnabas,” her tone measured and calm, “come back to the Old House with me, please?”

Barnabas growled, “Julia, I want to be alone!”

Julia stood firm and said, “I’m not going to leave you alone. Barnabas, I know what you’re thinking and I know that you’re hurting. But I won’t let you take your aggression out on someone.”

“I should have killed Peter Bradford,” Barnabas snarled. “He was never good enough for Vicki. She loved him and how did he repay that love? He betrayed her and she died... right here on this spot... just like Josette.”

“Yes,” Julia agreed sadly. “Barnabas... Barnabas, you’re not the only one who is hurting. We were all fond of Vicki — especially Elizabeth. Can you imagine how she’s managing to stay strong after hearing that painful truth?”

Barnabas contemplated that statement. He had thought his cousin Elizabeth could withstand anything thrown at her. But tonight, he witnessed a kind of grief he had seen once before — that of his mother, Naomi, after his sister Sarah’s tragic death. Recalling Sarah, Barnabas’s anger began to dissipate. His fangs retracted and his features softened until, at last, he turned to face Julia.

For her part, Julia smiled and rushed toward him, embracing Barnabas and fighting back her emotions. “Barnabas,” she quavered, holding tightly to him.

“It seems I have you to thank again, Julia,” he conceded, realizing how close to the brink of losing himself he had come.

“You don’t have to thank me, Barnabas,” sniffled Julia. “I’m just glad I found you before...” she faltered, and then continued, ”...anything happened.”

“You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

“I always will be.”

Julia was Barnabas’s staunchest ally. They had been through so much together and Julia remained by his side even when he did not deserve her loyalty. After a moment of awkward silence, she suggested, “We’d better return to the Old House. I’m afraid I startled Willie and you know how he worries.”

“Yes,” Barnabas agreed, “come.”

*****

By the time Julia and Barnabas made their way to the Old House, Willie had re-lit the candles and made a cup of tea with Julia’s favorite blend. He had been relieved to see the doctor had managed to find Barnabas before he perpetuated an act they would all regret. Now, he listened as Julia detailed recent events at Collinwood and revealed the heartbreaking truth about Vicki.

“So... so Vicki’s dead and trapped someplace?” he asked, struggling to comprehend.

“Simply put, yes,” Julia acknowledged, realizing how difficult it was to explain properly.

“Well, what are you gonna do about it, Barnabas?” Willie pressed, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not just gonna leave her, are you?”

Barnabas, who had been facing away from Julia and Willie by the fireplace, turned and barked, “What can I do, Willie? If there was a way to save Vicki, I wouldn’t hesitate. She’s in a place no one can reach her. Alone, frightened.”

“But you’ve gone back in time before,” Willie pointed out. “Why can’t you do it again? Get Vicki out before she leaves with that Peter guy!”

Julia sighed, “Willie, you make it sound so easy. Time travel isn’t like taking a bus and simply getting off wherever you like.”

“Time travel...” Barnabas contemplated, brushing his chin with his forefinger.

“No, Barnabas.” Julia’s tone was firm as granite.

“But what if I could, Julia? What if I could change the past? Convince Vicki not to leave with Bradford?”

“And then what? You’re forgetting one very important thing, Barnabas.”

“Am I?”

“Yes — the Leviathans,” Julia reminded him. “We now know they allowed Peter to bring Vicki back with him. Vicki and Peter were chosen to be Jeb’s guardians in 1797. The Leviathans... the Leviathans would never let you interfere.”

Barnabas countered, “You think not? I could persuade them their choice is wrong. That Vicki’s innate goodness would clash with their plans. She would never go along with it, willingly or otherwise.”

Julia felt as if she were arguing with a brick wall. She knew from past experience that once an idea entered Barnabas’ head, it was near-impossible to change his mind. “Barnabas, be realistic. Have you forgotten how powerful the Leviathans were? You were human again until they took their revenge and turned you back into a vampire. What if they did something worse, far worse?”

“Nothing can be worse,” Barnabas assured her, frowning grimly.

Julia sighed out of sheer frustration, “You don’t know that. Those... those beings are capable of anything. Oh, Barnabas, I’m frightened they could destroy you... forever.”

“They are the ones who should be frightened — of me!” shouted Barnabas. “Julia, do you expect me to do nothing while Vicki remains trapped? Going on day after day, night after night knowing she’s wasting away in limbo?”

“No, no...” Julia replied softly. “I can’t stand the thought of that either.”

Willie spoke up, “Barnabas, how would you go back? To 1797, I mean.”

“Quentin’s I-Ching wands,” Barnabas answered, the plan already seeded and blossoming in his mind. “I’ve used them before and I shall use them again.”

“Say you’re able to do this. That you’re able to save Vicki — then what?” Julia argued, “She’ll have no way of returning with you.”

“I will find a way,” Barnabas vowed. “No matter what it takes, Julia. Vicki will come back and live her life how she was meant to. Here, in this time.”

Julia began to pace the parlor, her bottom lip pouched out in a sign of deep thought. “There’s something that’s just occurred to me. During the séance, Jeb’s ghost told us only Elizabeth had the power to help Vicki. What could he have meant by that?”

“How could Elizabeth help?”

“I don’t know,” Julia admitted slowly. “But I think we should wait until we learn more from Professor Stokes before taking any action.”

“Julia, I cannot wait — I must act and quickly!” protested Barnabas.

“But he might discover a way of helping Vicki that doesn’t involve risking your life.” Julia equated calming Barnabas to that of treating a wounded tiger. “Barnabas...” she began, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Barnabas, promise me you won’t do anything until we hear from Eliot.”

Silence fell over the room while Barnabas mulled over the possibilities. His shoulders sagged as he eventually agreed, “Perhaps you’re right.”

Relief swept over Julia and she rubbed her forehead absently. “I... I’d better give you your injection before I go back to Collinwood.”

Treating Barnabas with a serum she had developed had become routine after their adventure in the year 1840. In that time, she and Barnabas successfully prevented the warlock, Judah Zachery, from destroying the Collins family. They found a surprising ally in Angélique, who had her own score to settle with Judah. Her feelings toward Barnabas softened to the point in which she lifted the vampire curse. However, upon his return to 1971, Barnabas’ hopes were dashed when he discovered the curse was still with him.

Julia started her treatments again to varying degrees of success. Barnabas could manage to survive in the daylight for a few hours. Yet, his thirst for blood remained. Julia, more determined than ever, delved into uncharted territory. Her research had led her to an obscure reference to a plant-based mixture found only in Singapore. Ludicrous and impossible were the first words to enter Julia’s mind, but ever since she came to Collinwood, ludicrous and impossible had become her specialties. As serious as Elizabeth was to help Vicki, Julia was equally resolute in her belief that she could cure Barnabas. And she would — someday, somehow.

*****

Although Elizabeth wrestled with the heartbreaking truth of Vicki’s destiny, her restless night proved to be the first in a week in which she was free of the nightmare. In a strange way, she wished she had endured it again. Now that she knew the woman in her dream was Victoria Winters, Elizabeth felt she could reach her this time and prevent her fall from Widows’ Hill. Her hope of saving the governess was dashed when she remembered the invading presence that stopped her from identifying Vicki in the first place. Despair settled over Elizabeth’s heart once more, yet her determination never faltered.

She wandered over to the vanity table Professor Stokes replaced for her. All of the objet d'art, whatnots, and pictures were back in place. One photograph, in particular, caught her attention — one of a dark-haired young woman possessed with ethereal beauty. “Vicki,” Elizabeth spoke to the picture. “Vicki, darling, I always wanted to believe you were safe and happy in that other time.” She exhaled sadly. “Nothing ever works out for any of us, does it? But I will find a way to help you — I promise.”

Replacing the photograph, Elizabeth made herself presentable and then wandered out of her bedroom and into the hallway. Morning’s sunshine spilled out from Carolyn’s room, the door of which was slightly ajar. Elizabeth took a deep breath and moved toward it with the hope her daughter might be in the mood to talk about last night’s events.

“Carolyn?” she called out.

Hearing no reply, Elizabeth knocked on the door before stepping inside. She found Carolyn’s bed unmade, though it had clearly been slept in. Just then, there came the sound of footsteps in the hall. Elizabeth turned and said, “Carolyn?”

“Oh, Mrs. Stoddard,” a startled Mrs. Johnson gasped. “I didn’t expect to see you up this early. And where’s Miss Carolyn?”

“I was hoping you might know,” Elizabeth replied, going over to Carolyn’s bed and absently making it up.

Mrs. Johnson hurried to give her a hand. “No. Maybe it was the goings-on here last night that made her leave?” The housekeeper’s disapproving tone made her feelings clear.

“Mrs. Johnson, what I choose to do or not to do in my own house is my business.” Elizabeth usually reserved that particular tone of voice for reprimanding her brother. “I didn’t mention the séance precisely due to your attitude.”

“Well, I never meant to offend anyone, Mrs. Stoddard,” the housekeeper apologized. “But you know I don’t approve of contacting spirits after everything that’s happened here.”

“You’ve made your point as I have made mine. Now, let’s put an end to the subject.” And that was that. When Elizabeth Collins Stoddard reached a decision, there was no changing her mind. “Right now, I’m more concerned about Carolyn. She was terribly upset last night.” She finished helping Mrs. Johnson with the bed and then walked over to the window, brushing aside the curtain to peer out onto the grounds below. Where could she be?

*****

I killed Victoria Winters! I killed Victoria Winters! I killed Victoria Winters!

Jeb’s haunting words had startled Carolyn awake just as dawn broke over the great house. Tormented over Jeb’s confession, she held her head in her hands and fought against a renewed flood of tears. The memory of the séance caused her heart to physically ache within her chest. Shortly after Jeb’s death, she experienced a dream in which her husband promised to return one day. Carolyn never expected that vow to be fulfilled in such a cruel way.

Unable to sleep, she hauled herself out of bed, changed her clothes, and then stealthily made her way downstairs and left Collinwood. She had only one destination in mind — one her mother would not approve of after last night’s events — Widows’ Hill. She hoped he might appear to her and tell her something — anything — to explain away all the terrible things he had confessed.

Carolyn walked through the woods surrounding the estate and made her way toward the cliff. She found it bitterly ironic that she had become one of the titular Widows herself, waiting for her lost husband to return from his watery grave. As she approached the precipice, Carolyn could hear the waves roaring as they crashed against the rocks one hundred feet below. The cloudless sky afforded her an unobstructed view along the water.

She came to rest near the edge, closed her eyes, and breathed in the rich salty air. Between heartbeats, the pain of loss viciously stabbed at her chest. Not only had Jeb lost his life on this very spot, but her husband caused Vicki’s death here in a past life. She opened her mind and reached out, terrified of revealing the truth and the consequences of accepting it.

“Jeb,” Carolyn shuddered, “please hear me.” The wind picked up, causing it to wail and howl around her. “I know you’re restless and neither one of us will ever be at peace unless I’m certain about... about what you did to Vicki.”

Receiving no response — barring the incessant howling of the wind — she cried out, “Please — I have to know the truth!”

Then, a woman’s voice called out, “Carolyn!”

“Leticia?” She remembered Professor Stokes’ description of her spirit guide’s distinctive Cockney accent. “Leticia Faye?”

Her studies with Stokes had not only unlocked her psychic potential but also uncovered her affinity with the spirit of Leticia Faye. Thanks in part to Leticia’s help, Carolyn had the ability to remember being possessed during a séance, in addition to recalling events during her unconscious state. In all that time, however, Leticia had never contacted her directly... until now.

Carolyn drew in a sharp breath and her eyes snapped open as a vision filled her mind. A hazy image came into focus, depicting Widows’ Hill in the distant past. Although it was nighttime, a full moon lit up the lush trees and foliage near the cliff. Suddenly, Victoria Winters burst through the undergrowth, her long, dark hair wild and her fair skin scratched as she ran for her life.

“You can’t run forever, Vicki!” came Jeb’s mocking laughter. “I’ll find you — I’ll always find you.”

Vicki, her eyes wide with fright, scrambled toward the cliff and tore her red dress on the rocks. She whimpered as she frantically searched for an escape route.

“Vicki, come out come out wherever you are,” Jeb called teasingly. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you? You remember what happened the last time...” His voice twisted into one of cruelty, while a harsh breathing sound overpowered the gale.

Panic-stricken, Vicki backed away toward the edge as the trees were torn asunder by a massive invisible creature — Jeb’s true Leviathan form. Vicki screamed and covered her mouth with both hands. She inched further back as a trail of green slime followed in Jeb’s wake. He crushed rocks beneath him until the very edge of the cliff threatened to splinter. Unable to comprehend the horror before her, Vicki closed her eyes and shook her head in an act of silent defiance. Then, the ground flew away and she was falling, plummeting toward the cold embrace of the sea below.

That’s when Carolyn saw it — a black, square void appeared just above the teeth of the jagged rocks, swallowing Vicki whole before her body could be impaled and torn asunder...

“Help me! Help meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Vicki’s helpless screams rang in Carolyn’s ears as the vision ended and Carolyn pitched forward, simultaneously weeping and gasping for air.

“Oh, my god,” Carolyn choked on a deep-throated sob as she forced herself to accept the truth. “Jeb, you were a monster! You drove Vicki to her death! But Vicki... Vicki didn’t die... what happened to her?” She struggled to make sense of everything she had witnessed. Leticia Faye gifted her this vision for a reason, and Carolyn understood something important none of them had learned last night. A power, a force had intervened and prevented Vicki’s death. What, or who helped her? Why was she trapped between worlds as Professor Stokes hypothesized?

“Vicki,” she gasped, regaining her strength as she got back up onto her feet. “Vicki, I’m so sorry. I truly am. I don’t know if you can hear me, but we’re going to find a way to help you — I promise. I’ll find a way to make up for everything Jeb did.”

Tears streaming freely down her face, Carolyn turned and ran back through the forest, mirroring Vicki’s actions in the past. Her heart thundered and her emotions felt as if someone was playing a game of tug-of-war on a grand scale. She found herself in a paradox of love and hate — despising the monster Jeb had been, but at the same time caring for the man he had become. She could not think about that now, otherwise, the pain would cripple her. No, her focus had to be on Vicki and helping right the terrible wrong that had been committed against her.

Memories of their friendship flashed through Carolyn’s mind and how Vicki’s arrival at Collinwood had changed all their lives. The good-natured governess might as well have been a beacon of light dispelling the darkness shrouding the great house. And what had Vicki received in return? Murder, madness, and mayhem just to name a few of her rewards. All Vicki ever wanted was to learn the truth about her origins, and she had been denied that comfort.

Crack!

Carolyn froze, hearing what sounded like a limb crunching underfoot a short distance away. She whirled around, and called out, “Is someone there?”

No response — Carolyn stood still a moment longer, simply listening before deciding the vision at Widows’ Hill had left her feeling jumpy. She chalked the noise up to an animal scampering through the woods. Carolyn absently brushed her hair away from her face and continued on her way. While stepping over a couple of fallen branches on the path, she felt a sudden chill and huddled into her jacket for warmth.

Hurrying across the five-mile distance separating Collinwood and Eagle Hill Cemetery, Carolyn determined to locate the grave of Peter Bradford. If anyone could help her, then it was the spirit of the man Vicki had loved so much she vanished into the past to be with him. It was, of course, a long shot as it was one of the largest graveyards in Collinsport. For the past two hundred years, almost all of the Collins family’s loved ones had been laid to rest there. The grounds were presided over by one eccentric caretaker — an elderly man who often warned about restless spirits defiling the area.

Opening her mind and making herself vulnerable to the ghosts haunting the grounds was a risk Carolyn was willing to take. Someone had to step up and discover how to reach Vicki, and Carolyn felt as if her paranormal studies had given her a true purpose in life. Upon reaching her destination, she pushed open the creaking old gates and, the second she set a foot inside, she found herself assailed by numerous unseen spirits yearning to be heard. Fortunately for Carolyn, Professor Stokes had taught her several techniques to guard against overloading her mind.

As she picked her way among the tombstones, Carolyn recognized a few familiar names from the past — Daniel Collins, Millicent Collins, and Josette Collins — and some she had never heard of before. The older graves were terribly weathered to the point where the corrosive salt-rich air had all but erased their inscriptions. Carolyn decided that if she remained close to the late 18th-century section she would probably have better luck. She trod carefully between the markers as the surroundings proved to be neglected with overgrown weeds and fallen branches.

“Carolyn!”

Leticia’s voice again. There was no vision this time, only a growing sense of dread with every step. “Leticia, what are you trying to tell me?” Carolyn whispered, glancing around her surroundings. Rounding the corner of a gnarled birch, she stumbled and screamed at the sight awaiting her. One of the tombstones looked as if a thunderbolt had struck it, splitting the marker in two and leaving the ground beneath it scorched and blackened.

Carolyn’s bottom lip quivered as she regained her senses and peered at the remains of the gravestone. She peered through eyes wet with fresh tears as she read the name aloud, “Peter... Bradford,” and then the inscription, “Hanged for... murder... 1797...”

Her heart sank into despair. She remembered the revelations of the séance and how Peter had been put to death after enacting vengeance on Jeb for Vicki’s demise. But who or what could have caused this devastation? It was clear someone or something did not want them to contact Peter Bradford’s spirit.

She whirled around and gasped in alarm as she heard the sound of someone approaching. “Who’s there?!” she demanded, exasperated with being frightened out of her wits.

A man crashed onto the scene and Carolyn sized the stranger up in a matter of seconds. He was handsome, of average height, wearing an elegant suit and carrying a walking stick. Obviously a man with manners, he had taken off his bowler hat in the presence of a lady to reveal a head of neatly trimmed blond hair.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, miss,” he apologized in a refined British accent.

“W-who are you?” she asked shakily. “And what are you doing here?”

“Do forgive me if I startled you, but I heard a scream and I ran to find the cause.”

“Here I am — the cause.” Carolyn eyed him warily, sniffling, “You still haven’t explained who you are.”

“I am afraid I received mixed instructions at the — oh, dear oh dear, what was that pub called?” He thought for a moment and then remembered, “The Blue Whale.” Noting the tears staining Carolyn’s lovely features, he gallantly offered her the handkerchief tucked in his coat pocket. “Tears are for watering cabbages.”

Carolyn accepted the offer, dabbing at her eyes and cheeks. “My mother used to tell me that when I was a little girl.”

“Well, I can see that something has greatly distressed you. I offer you my humblest apologies and I shall be on my way.”

“Wait.” Carolyn, her curiosity peaked, said, “Thank you for the handkerchief.”

He smiled and encouraged her, “You may keep it. Consider it a humble gesture of apology for frightening you.”

Despite her scare, Carolyn felt charmed by the stranger. She glanced down at the handkerchief and noted the embroidered initials V.F.G. “You never answered my question — what brought you here? This isn’t exactly a tourist attraction.”

“Years ago, I had family in Collinsport. While I was in town, I thought I might pay my respects.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. So, why did Carolyn still feel suspicious? “You walked all the way here from town?” she wondered aloud.

“Indeed,” he confirmed, adding, “it turned out to be such a lovely day, I thought the exercise would do me good.”

Before Carolyn could delve further into the stranger’s motives, he glanced over her shoulder and exclaimed, “How on earth did that happen?” The man pointed his walking stick at Peter Bradford’s desecrated grave. “Was this what caused you to scream? If so, I can perfectly understand why. Did this belong to one of your relatives?”

“No.” Carolyn shook her head. “I came out here to do some research for school,” she lied, adding, “and this was the last thing I expected to find.”

“Quite extraordinary! I’ve never seen the like of it before.”

“It must have happened last night,” Carolyn surmised sadly. “There was a terrible storm. I suppose it must have happened then...” She trailed off and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry... and you are?”

“Victor and I’m very pleased to meet you — miss?”

“Carolyn.”

“Carolyn — ‘the little womanly one’.” He smiled and reached out a gloved hand to greet her. “Such a lovely name.”

“Thank you.” After the morning she had experienced, the last thing Carolyn expected was to be charmed in the middle of Eagle Hill Cemetery.

Victor released her hand and took a quick glance at his watch. “Do forgive me, Carolyn. I’m afraid I’m going to be terribly late for an appointment I must keep.” His expression segued to one of concern as he wondered, “Will you be all right here on your own?”

“Of course,” Carolyn replied as if her earlier fright had never occurred. “I really should find the caretaker and tell him about this.” She indicated the remains of Peter Bradford’s grave, adding, “Although I doubt it will do much good.”

“Perhaps we’ll meet each other again soon?” Victor suggested, doffing his hat before placing it back on his head with a smart tap.

“Maybe.” Carolyn bit her lip and smiled coquettishly. “Only next time, let’s hope you won’t have to rush in like Sir Galahad because I’m terrible at playing the part of a damsel in distress.”

Victor returned Carolyn’s smile with one of his own, and recited Alfred Tennyson’s poem, “A maiden knight-to me is given such hope, I know not fear; I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven that often meet me here. I muse on joy that will not cease, pure spaces clothed in living beams, pure lilies of eternal peace, whose odours haunt my dreams.”

The mention of dreams seemed almost deliberate and Carolyn’s expression darkened. She felt embarrassed being easily charmed by the strange, yet alluring man. This morning alone she experienced a horrific vision of the past and then the sight of Peter Bradford’s devastated grave. Why did her equilibrium feel out of balance while in Victor’s presence?

Carolyn glanced up and discovered Victor had left during her silent contemplation. She combed her fingers through her hair, wondering if reporting the state of Peter Bradford’s grave was worth the effort. She could already imagine the old caretaker’s reaction as he expounded on the evil lurking in the cemetery. In this case, however, he might be right in his belief.

*****

Julia emerged from her bedroom at Collinwood, wearing an orange blouse, a green skirt, and an Isadora Duncan scarf to finish the ensemble. Sleep proved to be elusive as she had spent a great deal of the night concerned over what action Barnabas might take. Between that and learning of Vicki’s fate, she could not bear to contemplate what might happen next. She found herself tempted to search Quentin’s room in the west wing and confiscate the I-Ching wands. At the very least, it would prevent Barnabas from taking a reckless step.

“Julia?” Elizabeth called out, stepping into the hallway from the floor leading to the foyer below.

“Elizabeth, how are you feeling?” Julia asked, glancing up.

“Worried,” the Collins matriarch answered. “Have you seen Carolyn today?”

“No.”

“She must have left the house before any of us were awake. I’m terribly concerned, especially after last night.”

Julia offered, “I could look for her if you’d like?”

“Would you?” Elizabeth asked gratefully. “I’d go myself but I’m afraid she’ll return to the house and we’ll miss each other Where could she have gone?”

After taking a pensive moment, Julia decided, “I think I might have an idea.”

“Thank you, Julia.”

As the two women parted ways, Elizabeth absently stepped into the bedroom that once belonged to Victoria Winters. She crossed over to the window and glanced out onto the grounds below. Before her disastrous marriage to Paul Stoddard, the room had been Elizabeth’s in happier days. Since then, too many things had gone wrong, events she wished she could change. Sighing heavily, Elizabeth sank down into an armchair in one corner of the room. Physically and emotionally drained, she closed her eyes for a moment and, before she realized what was happening, fell asleep.

She found herself drawn into a world of psychedelic colors dancing around the darkened bedroom. Elizabeth was aware of her surroundings, likening the experience to that of lucid dreaming Professor Stokes had induced. Beside the bed, a familiar figure stood — Victoria Winters! Far from being a ghostly apparition, Vicki appeared solid and real, and yet her skin fairly glowed a deathly white, and dark circles ringed her eyes.

“Vicki?!” cried Elizabeth, sitting bolt upright in the chair.

“Mrs. Stoddard,” Vicki began, holding onto the bedpost for support. “I’m so happy to see you again. I’ve missed you.”

“Vicki — Vicki, darling, I’ve missed you too. You have no idea how much.”

“I’m lost,” Vicki stated, sounding weak. “I can’t find my way home. Please, Mrs. Stoddard — I’ve been searching for a way out and suddenly I could see you.” She grew frightened, shivering as she glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t stay here. Time is running out. Can you help me?”

“Yes, yes — What can I do? How can I help?” implored Elizabeth, desperation breaking her voice.

Vicki paused, the effort to speak seemingly taking a toll on her. As a shadow descended upon her and darkness gradually swallowed her up, she silently mouthed two words over and over again.

“Why can’t I hear you?” asked Elizabeth, struggling to understand what Vicki was trying to convey.

The effort proving too great, Vicki’s image faded as the encroaching darkness overwhelmed her.

“No, no — Vicki!” Elizabeth awoke with a distraught cry.

Outside in the hall, Professor Stokes stepped from one of the guest bedrooms when he heard Elizabeth’s shout. He hurried to join her, kneeling beside the chair and asking with concern, “Elizabeth, what happened?”

“Vicki,” Elizabeth caught her breath, “I saw Vicki! In a dream... she spoke to me...”

In stark contrast to Elizabeth’s distraught state, Stokes remained resolute and calm. “She actually spoke to you?” he asked, contemplating the ramifications at the same time. “That is quite a development from our last experiment.” Then, the Professor urged her, “Elizabeth, what did Miss Winters say? You must tell me every detail. It might be the key to helping her.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard and nodded, recounting her dream from beginning to end for Stokes, who listened intently.

*****

Julia’s first instinct had been to visit the cliff of Widows’ Hill. After last night’s séance, she reached the logical conclusion that Carolyn would venture to the place where Jeb had met his death. Finding no trace of Carolyn there, Julia found herself drawn back to the path leading into the woods. As she wandered through the trees, she fretted over what action Barnabas might take. The possibility frightened her, as well as the notion of the Leviathans’ involvement. Although she cared deeply for the Collins family’s welfare, her main concern had and would always be Barnabas. If only they had managed to catch the boat in Boston, then they might have been too far away to ever be involved. No, that was a selfish thought and Julia berated herself for entertaining it.

The sound of leaves crunching on her left-hand side distracted Julia, who called out, “Is someone there?”

“Julia?” Carolyn stepped out from the trees and onto the path, tucking drifting strands of hair behind an ear.

“Carolyn!” Julia exclaimed, “Your mother’s been terribly worried about you.”

“I... I needed some time to myself,” Carolyn admitted, ashamed of her behavior. “After last night, surely you can understand that.”

Julia nodded, “Yes... yes, I can.” Then, adopting a concerned tone, wondered, “Where have you been?”

“Widows’ Hill and Eagle Hill Cemetery.”

“The cemetery? Why did you go there?”

Carolyn explained, “I had the crazy idea of trying to contact Peter Bradford’s ghost.”

Julia arched an eyebrow. “I take it the attempt was unsuccessful?”

“Julia, I didn’t even try. If you could have seen the state of the grave. It... it looked as if a meteor fell out of the sky and landed on top of it.”

“Carolyn, what — what are you saying?”

“There was nothing left. Just a hole in the ground. Even the tombstone was destroyed.”

Julia stared off into the distance. “How could that have happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand it at all. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was deliberate.”

“Carolyn, you’re being melodramatic.”

“Am I? While I was there, I met the strangest man.”

“Oh? What was so strange about him?”

“The way he just appeared after I discovered Peter Bradford’s grave. He was handsome and charming — a little too charming.”

“Did he say why he was there?”

“He claimed to be paying his respects to some relatives.”

“That’s not so uncommon, is it?”

“No, but I still think there was something odd about him. He gave me this.” Carolyn fished the handkerchief from her coat pocket and gave it to Julia.

“V.F.G.,” Julia read the initials aloud.

“He said his name was Victor, but that’s all I could manage to find out.”

Julia noted the dampness clinging to the silk cloth before taking a keen glance at Carolyn’s eyes. “You’ve been crying. What’s happened? You must tell me.”

“Something happened while I was at Widows’ Hill,” Carolyn started to explain. “Julia, I had a vision of the past... of Vicki.”

“What?” Julia could not hide her surprise. “What did you see?”

“It’s all true. Everything Jeb confessed last night. He caused Vicki to fall from the cliff.”

“Oh, Carolyn...”

“But she didn’t die, Julia. Vicki didn’t die!”

“What? What are you saying?”

“When she fell, I saw this... I can only describe it as a kind of black door opening and swallowing her up.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know it doesn’t. But that’s what happened and it explains why Vicki’s trapped between worlds.”

“Barnabas needs to hear this. He has this insane plan to use the I-Ching wands and go back in time to 1797.”

Carolyn bit her lip, and declared, “If I knew it would work, I would probably do it myself.”

“Carolyn, you can’t be serious.”

“We can’t help Vicki in the past, but we can here and now.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Julia took a beat. “Were you returning to Collinwood?”

“Yes, I owe mother an apology.”

“Good.” Julia smiled and returned the handkerchief to Carolyn.

“What about you?” asked Carolyn as the two women began to part company.

“No, I have to tell Barnabas about your experience. Maybe it will convince him to wait. I have to try.” Her mind set, Julia took a detour and headed toward the Old House.

Carolyn watched her until Julia disappeared among the trees. Then, she glanced down at the handkerchief in her hand. She still felt rattled by her encounter with Victor, even though she had no reason to be. Perhaps she was being overemotional and she could not blame herself for that. The séance combined with her visions had left her in a highly vulnerable state. Of course, she was going to feel suspicious and question everything around her. Pocketing the handkerchief, Carolyn focused her thoughts on finding the right words to say to her mother. Not only did she have to make up for last night’s behavior, but she also had to relate the outcome of her vision. Would she be giving her mother false hope? No, she had to believe Vicki could be saved. Her faith in that outcome was the only balm soothing the pain of knowing the truth about Jeb.

*****

Elizabeth exhaled deeply, sinking back into the armchair as she finished relating her dream to Professor Stokes. She felt both emotionally drained and energized at the same time. Although Vicki had only appeared to her in a dream, it was more than Elizabeth could have ever hoped for. Now, Vicki’s fate rested in her hands and she lifted a silent prayer that Eliot had the answers she needed.

“I always found Miss Winters to be a fascinating young woman,” Stokes confessed, brushing a finger over his chin. “If you’ll pardon the comparison, it was almost as if she was a lightning rod for the supernatural.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, “it was as if misfortune deliberately followed her.” She glanced over Stokes’ shoulder, recalling events from years ago. “I often wondered if it was a mistake bringing her here.”

“She spoke of her happiness living at Collinwood,” Stokes assured Elizabeth, adding, “I know you were fond of her.”

“Very fond,” Elizabeth said quietly.

“I’m puzzled over why Jeb Hawkes insisted you were the only one who could help Miss Winters,” Stokes admitted, hoping Elizabeth might solve the conundrum herself.

However, Elizabeth stated with absolute certainty, “She’s still alive, Eliot,” and before Stokes could protest, she insisted, “I know it. If Vicki fell from Widows’ Hill in the past, somehow she survived.”

“I don’t know if the term ‘alive’ applies here. However, Miss Winters is not gone.”

Elizabeth stood up, clasping her hands together as she walked the length of the room. “Then, where is she?”

Stokes replied, “I believe now more than ever that my theory is correct — she is trapped in limbo.”

Elizabeth did not fully understand the concept, but she declared, “Well, wherever Vicki is, she wants us to find her.”

“Yes, but where do we start?” Stokes pondered, admitting, “Everything I know about limbo, or purgatory as some like to call it, borders heavily on religion. It’s difficult to ascertain what is real and what is not.”

“Can’t your contacts help? You mentioned getting in touch with them last night.”

“I have one or two in mind who might shed some light...” Stokes trailed off as Elizabeth grasped the bedpost and her eyes widened in shock. “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”

“Look,” she gasped, nodding in the direction of a chest of drawers. Stokes followed her stunned gaze to the mirror above it. Words began to form in opaque letters as if someone was writing them on the other side.

GNIW TSEW

Stokes, resolute and calm, took a step forward and deciphered the text, “West Wing.”

“What could possibly be there?” Elizabeth wondered aloud. The only inhabited room in that section of Collinwood belonged to her cousin, Quentin.

The message having been sent, the words gradually faded from the mirror’s surface. An eerie silence blanketed itself over the room.

Elizabeth, unfazed by the supernatural occurrence, headed for the door with conviction. She was halfway into the hall when she heard Stokes calling after her, “Elizabeth, where are you going?”

“Eliot, if Vicki wants me to go to the West Wing, then that’s where I intend to go,” Elizabeth stated firmly, making it clear she had no intention of waiting.

Stokes followed fast on her heels as Elizabeth made a beeline for the door leading to Collinwood’s west wing. Despite Quentin residing in one of the rooms, the rest of the wing was disused and closed off. Antique chairs were stacked at various intervals, portraits hung askew, while dust and cobwebs clung to the remnants of the past.

“Vicki? Vicki!” Elizabeth went from room to room, opening and closing the doors as she searched for any sign of the lost governess’s presence.

Stokes, fearing Elizabeth might be on the verge of hysterics, urged the family’s matriarch to remain calm. Elizabeth, however, was not having a bit of it. She pulled down sheets covering furniture in an effort to find a mirror. Dust bloomed around her, causing Elizabeth to cough yet not deter her from her mission in the slightest. She continued to call Vicki’s name, darting into another room.

Realizing the best course of action lied in helping Elizabeth, Stokes entered a darkened room and, finding nothing of interest, he wandered back out into the hall just in time to witness the door leading to Quentin’s room opening on its own accord. “Elizabeth!” he shouted, drawing her attention.

Elizabeth emerged from another room and caught her breath at the sight. She did not question the event, nor was she frightened. Instead, she barreled on ahead and stepped into the outer room leading to Quentin’s quarters. Here, she paused and turned to Stokes wearing an expression of deep consternation.

“What could Vicki want us to find in Quentin’s room?” Elizabeth wondered aloud. “She never knew him.”

“It might not be Miss Winters who is directing us,” Stokes hypothesized, and then added for clarification, “it could very well be Jeb Hawkes.”

Bristling at the mention of her late son-in-law’s name, Elizabeth had yet to come to terms with Jeb’s true nature. “I don’t want to think about him,” she admitted.

“Keep in mind his spirit is attempting to make amends, in his own way.”

Unwilling to wait another moment, Elizabeth opened the door and stormed into Quentin’s room. It appeared just as her cousin had left it, with the velvet curtains open allowing light to spill over onto a large Victorian-style hand-carved table. In one corner sat an exquisite Victrola among a collection of curios. Elizabeth turned to the fireplace and gazed up at the mirror hanging above the mantle. Her hope of seeing another message was dashed as only the reflection of herself and the room appeared.

“Elizabeth, look!” Stokes exclaimed, indicating a roll-top desk on the other side of the room.

The flexible, sliding cover coiled itself back to reveal an assortment of papers and books underneath. Although it meant riffling through Quentin’s private belongings, Stokes and Elizabeth hurried across and began to search.

“Oh Vicki, if only I knew what to look for,” Elizabeth lamented, casting an eye over papers filled with occult symbols. She passed them over to Stokes while remarking, “I can’t make heads or tails of any of this.”

“Quentin’s interest in the occult rivals my own,” Stokes observed, scanning one piece of paper after another. “It’s a shame he’s not here, he might know what we’re supposed to be looking for. Still, deciphering these notes shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Basing our hopes on maybes and ifs won’t help Vicki,” Elizabeth stated mournfully. She reached for one of the books stacked on the desk, only to draw her hand back as if chilled. A small tome bound together with string pitched itself forward onto the desk. “Vicki — this is what she wanted us to find!”

Stokes reached for the book, which appeared ancient and barely holding itself together. Strange hieroglyphics emblazoned both the front and back, the texture of which appeared to be made of leather and yet oddly felt like skin. Touching it caused an involuntary shiver to crawl its way up Stokes’ spine.

“What could it be?” Elizabeth wondered, taken aback by the unusual book.

Stokes shook his head in genuine dismay. “I have no idea, Elizabeth and I cannot express how much I detest not knowing.”

“Then, it was all for nothing?”

“Not at all,” Stokes reassured her. “A lock requires a key and our key is knowledge. A book is meant to be read, and it seems this one is determined to take us on a compelling journey.”

For the first time since this all began, Elizabeth began to feel a glimmering of hope. “If this is what we need to help Vicki, then we must,” she said, unwavering in her belief despite the book’s disarming nature.

*****

Carolyn pushed open the front door of Collinwood and deposited her coat on a hanger in the entranceway. Victor’s handkerchief fluttered out of Carolyn’s coat pocket, landing unnoticed on the floor. As she stepped into the foyer, Carolyn sensed a psychic disturbance inside the house. It tingled faintly at the back of her mind. Before she had a chance to contemplate what might have happened, she glanced up when her mother and Professor Stokes emerged from the second floor. They both appeared to be in an excitable mood.

“What’s happened?” asked Carolyn, moving toward the staircase and gripping the banister as if to prepare herself for disastrous news.

Elizabeth, wearing an expression of both relief and happiness, exclaimed, “Carolyn — thank goodness you’re home! I was so worried, darling.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” Carolyn apologized, adding, “I shouldn’t have upset you. Did something happen while I was gone?”

Professor Stokes explained, “Your mother experienced a most enlightening dream which led us to this.” He brandished the book inscribed with hieroglyphics.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Elizabeth embraced Carolyn and told her, “Vicki appeared to me in a dream.”

“You saw her?” Carolyn could not hide her astonishment.

Elizabeth leaned back and nodded, “She spoke to me and...”

“What?” Carolyn noted the sadness in her mother’s eyes. “What did she say?”

“I’m afraid she doesn’t have much time left.”

“We’re hoping the answers we seek lie within this,” Stokes said, passing the book to Carolyn.

“Where did you find this?” she wondered, examining the unnatural texture of the cover.

Elizabeth answered, “Quentin’s room.”

“Quentin?” echoed Carolyn, turning the pages to find the book written in a foreign script. “Trust him to keep a thing like this.”

“Luckily, Quentin is a curator of the occult,” Stokes proclaimed, retrieving the tome from his student. “Quite honestly, I never imagined we would have so much in common. If you’ll both pardon me, but I really must decipher this book if we’re to help Miss Winters.”

Carolyn barred the Professor’s way, insisting, “Please, wait. There’s something you both should know — I saw Vicki, too.”

“She appeared to you?”

“In a vision... at Widows’ Hill.”

“Carolyn, what on earth possessed you to go there?”

“I had to, mother. After last night, I needed time to process what happened — to be certain what Jeb told us was true. And it was — all of it. I... I had a vision of the past... and I witnessed everything. Jeb or I should say the monster Jeb was, chased Vicki to the cliff and she fell...”

Elizabeth screwed up her face in horror and disgust, glancing away to hide her feelings toward Jeb Hawkes from Carolyn. She could feel her heart shattering inside her chest for both Vicki and Carolyn. But nothing could have prepared Elizabeth for what her daughter revealed next.

“Vicki didn’t die, mother! She didn’t die.”

“What exactly did you see, Carolyn?” Stokes pressed. “It’s very important we know everything — no matter how painful it might be.”

“Vicki fell from the cliff and I... I could see the waves crashing against the rocks below, and...”

Distraught, Elizabeth turned away. “No, no...”

“Go on, Carolyn,” urged Stokes.

“This kind of door appeared out of thin air,” Carolyn tried to explain. “It opened and Vicki disappeared inside.” She went to her mother’s side in an effort to comfort her. “Vicki’s not dead. I don’t know how or why it happened, but that’s what the vision showed me.” Carolyn cast her gaze to Stokes, telling him, “Your theory was right, Professor — Vicki’s trapped between worlds.”

Stokes pondered this new information before hurriedly excusing himself. “I’ll be at my apartment if you need me,” he said, already opening Collinwood’s front door. “Please, only disturb me if it’s important. I’ll return as quickly as I can.” And with that, the Professor left the house with the book in tow.

Carolyn broke the awkward silence that lingered after his departure. “Mother, what did Vicki say?”

“That she’s searching for a way home and...” Elizabeth trembled as she finished, “And her time is short.”

“Maybe you should get some rest?” Carolyn suggested.

“No, I have to be strong for Vicki and for you. I can’t begin to imagine how this affected you.”

“You mean learning the truth about Jeb?”

“Yes.”

“I... I’ll deal with Jeb when this is all over. We have to help Vicki and I can’t be selfish with my own problems.”

“Darling, you don’t have to go through this alone. You know I will always be here for you.”

“I know that, mother. And I appreciate it, I really do. But I’ll be fine — I promise.” Carolyn exhaled and rested her head on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “What a morning this turned out to be,” she almost laughed. “Will you be all right?”

“Yes, of course, darling.”

“I think I’ll go freshen up.” Carolyn hugged her mother and could feel the quiet strength radiating from her. Elizabeth Collins Stoddard was a remarkable woman and Carolyn felt not only proud but lucky to be her daughter.

Elizabeth watched Carolyn ascend the staircase, cross the balcony and disappear inside the door leading to the second floor. She joined her hands together and her expression darkened to one of deep thought. Far from running short of hope, she would defy the odds and save Vicki even if it cost her last breath. Elizabeth absently glanced at the 18th-century portrait of Barnabas Collins that hung in the foyer before her eyes were drawn to a piece of cloth peeking out on the floor of the entranceway. She stooped to pick it up and discovered a handkerchief.

Blessed with an eye for craftsmanship, Elizabeth noted the quality of the cloth which was stained with a faint trace of tears. Immediately her mind turned to Carolyn and, believing the handkerchief belonged to her daughter, she smoothed it out and read the inscription aloud, “V.F.G.”

Elizabeth’s heart froze and, for a moment, time stood still. She remembered seeing his face among the crowd and finding it too incredible to believe. “It can’t be,” she declared in a stunned whisper.

“Mrs. Stoddard?”

Fumbling as she felt the need to hide the handkerchief in her cuff, Elizabeth fairly jumped when Mrs. Johnson called her name. “Y-yes, Mrs. Johnson?” she stammered.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I startled you,” the housekeeper apologized as she emerged from the door underneath the staircase.

“You didn’t,” Elizabeth lied, and then asked, “Was there something you needed?”

“Well, I was wondering how many places to set for lunch, so I thought it best to ask you.”

Lunch seemed like such a mundane idea that it was almost a relief to deal with an insignificant problem. “Just three — Professor Stokes will be joining us later.”

“I see.”

“Let me know when lunch is ready,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll be in the drawing-room until then.”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, the mistress of Collinwood walked into the drawing-room and opened the bay window. She gazed out at the sea for what seemed like the thousandth time in her life, searching for answers in the deep, dark waters. If Quentin’s book could truly return Vicki to the present, would that free them both from the ghosts of the past? After many agonizing years, wrongs might be righted.

Elizabeth became lost in her thoughts, barely registering a knock at the front door. Her pulse quickened as she pulled the handkerchief from her cuff. The initials stitched in the corner blurred as tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes. In the distance, the roar of the ocean fought to overwhelm the sound of Mrs. Johnson greeting someone at the door. Elizabeth glanced back out to the sea, brushing at her eyes and barely discerning footsteps approaching the drawing-room.

“Mrs. Stoddard? Mrs. Stoddard?” called Mrs. Johnson, raising her voice to catch Elizabeth’s attention.

All around Elizabeth, Collinwood seemed to tremble and she felt herself weakening as she clutched the handkerchief tightly until her knuckles turned white. And then, there was silence and Elizabeth turned and said, “Yes, Mrs. Johnson?”

“There’s a gentleman here to see you,” the housekeeper informed her. “He said the matter was urgent, otherwise I wouldn’t have let him in.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.” Elizabeth, almost numb, replied. “You can finish preparing lunch now.”

Mrs. Johnson nodded and extended her hand, gesturing for Elizabeth’s guest to enter the drawing-room. Then, she made her way back to the kitchen.

Despite her firm denial that it was possible, Elizabeth succumbed to the inevitable as if she had been expecting him to arrive all along. He walked into the room and her heart thudded against her chest. Blond, handsome, and wearing an immaculate suit, he paused in the middle of the room and Elizabeth weakened at the sound of her name on his lips.

“Victor,” she gasped, her eyes widening as she drank in his appearance.

“It’s been too long,” he said, moving toward her.

Elizabeth summoned all her strength and turned away, settling her gaze back to the horizon and the sea. “Twenty-five years too long,” she reminded him.

“Time has passed, but you’re still as beautiful as ever,” he complimented her sweetly.

“And you haven’t changed at all. You look exactly the same as...”

Victor finished, ”...the last day you saw me?”

Now, Elizabeth managed to face him. “I thought I would never see you again,” she admitted. “It was you in the crowd last night, wasn’t it?”

“Perhaps, or maybe it was wishful thinking on your part?”

“All right, you’re here. That’s a fact I’ll have to accept.” Elizabeth’s expression hardened as she pointedly asked, “Why is that? Why after all these years have you returned to Collinsport?”

“To bring back our daughter,” Victor answered simply. “To bring back Victoria Winters.”

*****

STARRING  
JOAN BENNETT  
.....Elizabeth Collins Stoddard

ALSO STARRING  
JONATHAN FRID  
.....Barnabas Collins

GRAYSON HALL  
.....Dr. Julia Hoffman

DAVID McCALLUM  
.....Victor Fenn-Gibbon

NANCY BARRETT  
.....Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes

JOHN KARLEN  
.....Willie Loomis

CLARICE BLACKBURN  
.....Mrs. Johnson

AND  
ALEXANDRA MOLTKE  
.....as Victoria Winters

Written by  
R.C. Moore  
Based on characters developed by  
ART WALLACE

DARK SHADOWS is a  
DAN CURTIS PRODUCTION


	6. Shattered: Interlude by R.C. Moore

_ Once upon a time, there was an heiress who lived in a foreboding castle. She grew up with the knowledge that one day the sprawling estate would belong to her. Responsibility and upholding the esteemed family name had been imprinted upon her since birth. Yet the heiress secretly longed for a life far away from the castle and wished for a powerful wizard to sweep her away. Little did she realize that one should be careful of what they wish for. _

Interlude: 1944

** An Excerpt from the Journal of Elizabeth Collins **

__

_ March 13, 1944 _

__

_ Tonight was supposed to be fun but Father’s determined to turn it into a business meeting. I know he’s trying to prepare me for the future of taking over Collins Enterprises and I don’t want to seem ungrateful but why can’t I ever have any fun? At least that spoiled brat of a little brother’s shipped off to military school. I’ve had quite enough of Roger and his antics. The house feels like a different place now that he’s away and I count that as a blessing. In his honor, I might slip a little something into the punch bowl tonight. Roger’s a terrible influence but he’d love that idea. At least it might loosen up all those stuffed shirts. Oh, someone’s knocking at the door. Where’s Hanscom? I swear that butler’s never around when you need him. _

Elizabeth closed her journal, hid it in a drawer in her bedroom, and then hurried downstairs to answer the door. She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors hanging in the hall. The epitome of beauty, her shoulder-length dark hair — fashionably curled — bounced with each step, while her elegant dress — black as night with glittering sparkles catching the light — swept over the floor. 

Servants rushed around preparing for the evening’s party. The scent of fresh bouquets of flowers filled the rooms with a sweet fragrance. Decorations hung at regular intervals and the finest Collins family linens were pressed and being carried downstairs by maids. The ladies ignored the persistent knocking at the front door, and Elizabeth noted there was no sign of Hanscom, a butler who would rather eat a bug than neglecting his duties.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Elizabeth stepped into the entranceway and opened the front door. The man waiting on the other side took her breath away. To call him handsome would have been an insulting understatement. Indeed, he was so beautiful he could have easily been mistaken for a matinée idol.

“Why, hello,” she said, leaning against the door and flashing her eyes coquettishly.

Clearly, the new arrival seemed as taken aback as Elizabeth. She wasn’t what he had been expecting and, for the first time in his life, he found himself at a loss for words. He stared at the stunning creature before him for what felt like an eternity.

Elizabeth prompted, “I said, ‘hello’.”

“Yes, please forgive me,” he replied in a refined British accent. “Hello.”

“If you’re here for the party, I’m afraid you’re a little early,” Elizabeth said, sizing the intriguing newcomer up. He wore an elegant, tailored suit offset with a pair of black leather gloves. In one hand, he held a walking stick along with a bowler hat.

“No, but if you don’t mind me saying so, you would most assuredly outshine any party graced by your presence.”

Elizabeth blushed, dipping her head as she smiled girlishly. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the compliment. “But if you’re not here for the party, what brings you to Collinwood?”

That question seemed to throw the man for a loop and he struggled to answer. He recovered himself and replied, “I was hoping to meet Mr. Jamison Collins.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth appeared disappointed and slightly annoyed. “Business, I suppose?” She straightened and gestured for him to follow her inside Collinwood. “I’m Elizabeth Collins, Jamison’s daughter,” she introduced herself.

“Victor Fenn-Gibbon,” he announced, taking Elizabeth’s hand and offering a welcoming kiss. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth.” His unwavering gaze captured hers and time stood still.

The moment, however, was broken when an apologetic older man wearing a butler’s tuxedo emerged from the door under the staircase, crossed the foyer, and excused himself. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Oh, Hanscom, I...” Elizabeth found herself at a loss for words. She noted his distress and this broke the spell she had been under. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“I don’t want to trouble you...”

“Hanscom, if I didn’t want to know I wouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s my niece — Betty. You remember her, don’t you?”

“Vaguely.”

“I’ve received some terrible news and I must go home to my wife. Do you think Mr. Collins will mind? I promise to return in time for the party.”

“Hanscom, don’t worry,” Elizabeth said gently. “You go home and be with your wife. I’ll be sure to tell my father.”

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” A grateful Hanscom grabbed his coat off the hook in the entryway and excused himself as he left the house.

Elizabeth’s attention returned to Victor, which wasn’t a difficult task as his magnetic presence fairly begged her to look in his direction. “You asked to see my father?” she asked, leading their guest through the foyer and down the hall leading to Jamison Collins’ study.

“Yes,” Victor confirmed, walking beside Elizabeth. “You know, that was very kind of you.”

Elizabeth smiled. “What do you mean?”

“How kind you were with the butler and allowing him to leave instead of attending to his duties,” Victor explained, sounding more than a little surprised.

“Thank you, but it was nothing really. Father might not like it. He can be rather strict at times.”

“The same father that’s throwing a lavish party?”

Elizabeth laughed, “His bark is worse than his bite. He’s might seem gruff but he’s really just a marshmallow inside. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Victor leaned in closer and whispered, “Your secret is safe with me.”

Blushing fiercely, Elizabeth became flustered as if she had never spoken to a man before. “Father’s study is this way,” she managed with a rapidly fluttering heart.

Smiling to himself, Victor followed her down the hall and took in his surroundings. “Collinwood is just as impressive as...” he stopped as if he had forgotten something, and after taking a moment, he continued, “...I’ve heard it is.”

“Impressive but dreadfully dull,” Elizabeth replied in a hushed tone. She tossed a playful wink at Victor before knocking on the study’s door. “Father?” she called out. “You have a guest.”

There was a moment of silence and then a gruff-sounding voice on the other side of the door replied, “Send them in.”

Before Elizabeth opened the door, she boldly asked Victor, “Is there any chance you might be attending tonight’s festivities?”

“I’m afraid my plans are somewhat up in the air,” Victor confessed, noting Elizabeth’s crestfallen expression. “Do you really want me to attend?”

Elizabeth, behaving as if the proposition did not excite her, replied with a flippant, “It probably won’t be terribly exciting. I imagine it will be one of those stuffy affairs where everyone talks about business. I doubt I’ll even peep downstairs once it started.”

“I think that would be a terrible shame.”

“Why do you say that?”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, your presence alone would be enough to take anyone’s mind off the subject of business.” And with that, Victor opened the door to Jamison Collins’ study and disappeared inside.

Elizabeth literally left speechless, took a beat to wish she could be a fly on the wall in her father’s study before turning and dashing back upstairs to her bedroom.

** An Excerpt from the Journal of Elizabeth Collins **

__

_ March 13, 1944 _

__

_ I have just met the most incredible man! He’s sophisticated and stylish and absolutely nothing like the other men in Collinsport. Victor — what a divine name! I wonder what sort of business he wanted to discuss with Father? Maybe he’s proposing a merger? Wouldn’t that be smashing? Something to shake the old fishing nets loose and bring the cannery up to date. I keep telling Father we have to keep up with the times but my suggestions are always ignored. I’ll bet if I were a man he would listen! Enough about that — I hope Father might extend an invitation to Victor to join us at the party. If not, I’ll have to be sure he has one! _

Elizabeth finished her entry and then safely tucked her journal away in its hiding place. She licked her bottom lip as she thought feverishly. Then, having made her mind up, left her bedroom and headed back downstairs. Taking care that her father remained occupied with Victor in the study, Elizabeth bypassed the scurrying maids and hurried into the drawing-room. There, she found a few party invitations inside the desk drawer and purloined one of them. She reached for a pen and wrote  _ Victor Fenn-Gibbon _ on the card before sealing it in an envelope.

Moving back into the foyer, Elizabeth grabbed her coat and, taking care no one was watching, opened the front door, and left the house. Outside, the air was brisk and the smell of the ocean strong as she clung to a portion of Collinwood and waited for Victor to leave. Her heart pounded and Elizabeth chided herself for behaving like a swooning school girl. If Victor had business with her father, certainly she would see him again. Still, she wasn’t prepared to take the risk.

As time ticked by, Elizabeth became more anxious and she resisted the temptation to storm back inside the house, go straight to her father’s study, and hand the invitation to Victor without caring one jot about the repercussions. Much to her relief, such action was thwarted when she heard the front door open and shut. Elizabeth peeked around the corner and she caught a glimpse of Victor moving away, walking stick in hand and his bowler hat back on his head.

“Mr. Fenn-Gibbon?” she called out, stepping from her hiding place and hurrying to his side.

Victor appeared surprised and pleased to see her as he turned and removed his hat in a gentlemanly gesture. “Miss Collins?”

“Did your meeting with my father go well?” Elizabeth inquired, her cheeks flushed from a combination of the weather and her attraction to the sophisticated man before her.

He gave a non-committal, “As well as could be expected,” and then leaned in and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “you’re right — his bark is definitely worse than his bite.”

Elizabeth giggled, “I’m glad you’re relatively unscathed.” She glanced away for a moment before wondering aloud, “Will you be visiting Collinwood again?”

“I’m not sure. Your father gave me the impression he wasn’t interested in my ideas.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “I’ve been trying to convince him to modernize the cannery for a while now,” she admitted, making it clear Jamison Collins turned a deaf ear to suggestions. “Listen to me going on about business matters and that was the last thing on my mind today.”

“What was the first?” Victor prompted. “Are you hiding something behind your back, Miss Collins?”

Elizabeth playfully replied, “Maybe.” Deciding there was no point in pretending any longer, she revealed the party invitation. “I thought I’d offer you one... just in case.”

“I take it my acceptance depends on whether you will be attending the party or not?”

“It might.” By this time, any other man would have been wrapped around Elizabeth’s finger. However, as she reminded herself, Victor Fenn-Gibbon was like no other man she had ever met.

“Then,” Victor started, drawing out the moment as if to tease her, “it would be a pity if I failed to accept a personal request.”

Elizabeth brightened, and pressed for confirmation, “So, you will be attending after all?”

“I would not miss it for the world, Miss Collins.”

*****

Night had fallen and the party at Collinwood was in full swing when Elizabeth made her appearance. She appeared on the balcony overlooking the foyer dressed in a stunning, figure-hugging gown with a scandalous slit revealing a shapely leg. There were gasps from the guests mingling in the foyer as they could not help but watch with mesmerized gazes as the heiress of Collinwood descended the staircase. The reaction pleased Elizabeth as it was exactly what she had intended, however not for this particular audience. She scanned the sea of familiar faces while making pleasantries, hoping with all her heart to find Victor among them.

Although her father would be none-too-pleased by her appearance, it only made Elizabeth feel more excited and liberated in the stuffy confines of what she called home. She moved through the crowd which parted around her as she made her way into the drawing-room. Her mood faltered and darkened when she found no sign of Victor. Instead, Jamison Collins — standing beside the fireplace and entertaining guests beneath the portrait of Jeremiah Collins — caught her gaze and Elizabeth made her apologies as Judge Crathorne began to speak to her. It seemed as if everyone wanted her attention. Indeed, a number of the younger businessmen had taken an interest in the heiress. However, Elizabeth only had eyes for one person.

She weaved her way out of the room, leaving a line of disappointed potential suitors in her wake. Elizabeth reached for a glass of champagne sitting on a tray from a passing waiter before exiting the house and stepping out onto the terrace. The lights from the drawing-room’s windows illuminated the area, which was filled with the sound of the trickling stone fountain muting the party within Collinwood. Elizabeth wandered over to a bench and sat down with a sigh, the drink in her hand half-forgotten. A polite cough made her tense and she glanced in the direction of the gate.

“Who’s there?” she called out.

Victor stepped from the shadows and apologized, “Forgive me if I startled you, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered and a smile brightened her features. He looked even more handsome than before, dressed to the nines in a tuxedo. “Victor? How long have you been here?”

“Not very long.” A gloved hand curled around the ever-present walking stick he carried as he pressed forward and smiled gently at Elizabeth. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you.” She flushed warmly in the brisk night air. “I could say the same thing but I’m not sure if men like to be described as ‘lovely’.”

“Why ever not? I should think it a great compliment coming from you.” His eyes fairly sparkled as his smile intensified. “May I sit?”

“Yes, of course.” Elizabeth waved her free hand, offering Victor the empty spot beside her. “I only wish I could offer you something drink.”

Victor did not seem to mind as he sincerely replied, “My dear when the company is this intoxicating one would be foolish to partake of anything else.”

Elizabeth giggled, “I sometimes wonder if you’re teasing me.” Upon seeing Victor’s bewildered expression, she clarified, “No one in Collinsport speaks as you do. In fact, I have never met anyone as charming and urbane before.”

“Do you mind if I make a confession?”

“Should I brace myself?”

“When I arrived in Collinsport, I came with an agenda. Meticulously planned, I intended to meet with your father and enact it.”

“You make it sound rather sinister,” Elizabeth observed, again unsure as to whether Victor was being serious or not.

Victor fixed her with his gaze. “Do I frighten you?”

“Don’t be silly.” Elizabeth dismissed the notion. “Nothing frightens me.”

“Not even this house?” He turned and gestured toward the hulking mansion behind them. “I can see it in your eyes, Elizabeth. You want to run — fun as fast and as far away from it as you can.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “Collinwood is and always will be my home. I have obligations and responsibilities to uphold. Father expects me to take over the business one day and it’s what I must do. He can’t depend on my brother — Don’t you understand? I’m all he has.”

Victor appeared exasperated as he pointed out, “Listen to yourself, Elizabeth. Do you really intend to shackle yourself here for the rest of your life? There is a whole world out there for you to explore and it’s just waiting.”

Elizabeth found herself taken aback by the intensity of his tone. “Tell me honestly — Why do you care? We’ve only just met and I can assure you I am no damsel waiting for a knight to come and rescue me. Even if I had a choice, I made up my mind a long time ago. Collinsport is where I belong.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Why yes,” she answered, the wavering certainty catching in her throat. “You claim to see a different life for me. How is that possible?”

“Because there’s a fire within you, a longing to be someplace, anywhere else than this little fishing village.” He paused, shifting closer to her as he continued, “A single-minded determination brought me here. I never imagined anyone or anything could derail it. But then, I met you. You have bewitched me, Elizabeth Collins.”

Victor’s honeyed words combined with his close proximity stole Elizabeth’s breath away. All sense of reason left her and the champagne flute slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground. The action proved enough to break the trance she had fallen under with a gasp of surprise.

“Please, allow me...” Victor offered, only for his gloved hand to brush Elizabeth’s as they both reached for the glass. 

Flustered by the intimacy of the contact, Elizabeth gave a soft, “I’m sorry — I’m usually not this clumsy,” and straightened while Victor retrieved the glass and placed it on the bench.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Victor replied. “After all, it was my fault. I’m afraid I let myself get carried away in the moment.”

“It was a very lovely moment,” Elizabeth admitted as she met Victor’s gaze and their mutual laughter shattered the awkwardness. “So, what made you come to Collinwood? You said you had a plan — I’d like to know what it is.” To her disappointment, Victor glanced away and remained tight-lipped. “So you’re determined to be mysterious?”

“Does that make me more appealing?” Victor wondered.

Elizabeth thought it over and replied, “Well, I do like mysteries and you are one definitely worth solving.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

“Elizabeth?” Victor reached out to caress her cheek before his fingertips gently traced over her chin and he drew her lips to his own.

The kiss was unlike anything Elizabeth had experienced before, simultaneously thrilling and electrifying. Her entire world turned itself inside out as fireworks exploded behind her fluttering eyelids. She abruptly broke the contact, blushing furiously and glancing over her shoulder as if to check if the party-goers inside the house — her father, in particular — had seen them.

“And here I thought you were fearless,” Victor teased, clearly affected by the kiss himself.

“I am,” Elizabeth reiterated once her breathing returned to normal. As if to prove the point, she kissed him again and lingered a little longer than she intended to. “You make me feel like I’m breaking some unspoken rule. It’s rather exhilarating.”

Victor chuckled, “There’s that fire I first noticed in your eyes.” He became thoughtful, once more caressing Elizabeth’s beautiful features with his gloved fingertips. “If it were not for you, I might have left Collinsport tonight. Now, I think my plans have changed.”

Elizabeth brightened and asked, “Does that mean you might stay awhile? Even in a gloomy old fishing village?”

“Yes, I think I might very well do just that.” He beamed and Elizabeth felt a rush of heady excitement of the possibilities that suddenly laid before her.


	7. Shattered: Chapter Seven by R.C. Moore

Twenty-five years ago, a stranger arrived at Collinwood and changed one woman’s life forever. Now that man has returned with promises of helping a lost girl and Elizabeth Collins Stoddard will discover a closely-guarded secret will not remain buried any longer...

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth faced Victor, a man she had once loved and never thought she would see again. “All right, you’re here. That’s a fact I’ll have to accept.” Her expression hardened as she pointedly asked, “Why is that? Why after all these years have you returned to Collinsport?”

“To bring back our daughter,” Victor answered simply. “To bring back Victoria Winters.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened and, feeling her heart seize with shock inside of her chest, broke away, and ran across the length of the drawing-room to close the doors. She whirled around in a state of frightened confusion. “I... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered nervously.

“Elizabeth, really? That’s your reaction?” Victor moved in like a predator stalking his prey. “Victoria Winters is our daughter,” he reiterated, adding, “the daughter you left at the Hammond Foundling Home for twenty years.” He eyed her as if she had taken leave of her senses. “Elizabeth, did you honestly believe I wouldn’t find out you hid her from me?”

Elizabeth — pale as one of the legendary ghosts of Collinwood — searched her racing mind for an explanation to cover up the truth. Indeed, it would have been easy to deflect the subject of Vicki’s lineage from anyone — anyone except Victor Fenn-Gibbon.

“Why would I hide Vicki from you?” Elizabeth’s will solidified into iron again as her words took on the form of a statement rather than a question. Indeed, an angry fire quenched by Victor’s reappearance began to grow in strength. “It seems in the intervening years you’ve made a number of assumptions and it makes me wonder whether you ever truly knew me at all.”

Victor rocked back on his heels, clearly admiring Elizabeth’s spirit despite the rift between them. “All right then, tell me,” he paused for dramatic effect before landing the stinging bow, “What would possess you to abandon our daughter?”

“I did not abandon Vicki!” Elizabeth turned the argument to her advantage. “If you had kept your promise and returned all those years ago, so much... so many things would have turned out differently. I waited two years for you to return — two agonizing years — until I realized you weren’t coming back.”

Victor appeared almost sheepish as he told her, “I was unavoidably detained.”

After a beat, Elizabeth squared her shoulders and gasped in astonishment, “That’s your explanation? All these years, I thought you were dead — it was the only way I could cope with your disappearance. I couldn’t believe you would leave me and...” She trailed off, finding the pain of remembering the past unbearable.

“Our child?” he prompted.

“Yes,” Elizabeth admitted, her eyes glistening with tears.

Victor seized the opportunity to move in for the kill. “You talk of me abandoning you, but what about Victoria? Isn’t that what you did to her?”

“No!” shouted Elizabeth, “I was protecting her.”

Victor, taken aback by this revelation, questioned, “Protecting her? From what?”

Desperately wanting to keep the past buried, Elizabeth felt its icy grip forcing her to relive the experience. “That last night, the night you left for... what was it?” She paused and remembered, “Important business? You promised to return for me and our baby.”

“And?”

“You mean there’s something you don’t know?” Elizabeth retaliated, then with a seriousness befitting the gravity of the situation, she gazed off into the distance and began to tell her story. “The next day, a strange woman came to Collinwood. And that’s when everything changed.”

*****

July 26, 1945.

Elizabeth glanced idly at the desk calendar as she sat in Collinwood’s drawing-room, feeling both pensive and excited. Although only a day had passed, she missed Victor terribly but she consoled herself with the fact that upon his return he would be taking her away from Collinsport forever. Wearing a secret smile, Elizabeth reminded herself she and Victor would not be alone. She placed a hand on her stomach, soothing the small bump growing there. How much longer would she be able to hide it? Her father had a sharp eye and he was more than a little suspicious of her relationship with Victor.

Thinking of her father brought with it a pang of guilt. The idea of actually leaving Collinsport had only ever been a pipe dream... until Victor swept into her life. Her father would be deeply hurt and that was the last thing Elizabeth wanted to happen. However, she consoled herself, she had to forge ahead and live her own life. She could only hope that her brother’s time in boarding school had matured him enough to take over the reins of the business.

The sound of a man clearing his throat snapped Elizabeth out of her reverie. “Miss Elizabeth?” Hanscom, the family’s butler, called out. “Do you need anything?”

“No, nothing,” she assured him, wearing a soft smile.

Hanscom, seemingly at a loss over what to do with himself, adopted a troubled expression. “Very well, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Hansom, wait,” Elizabeth said as he turned to leave. “You don’t have to spend your last night at Collinwood waiting for me to retire. We’re going to miss you, of course. But you and your wife are moving to Bangor tomorrow — you should be resting.”

“I’ve never liked change,” he confessed in a conspiratorial manner. “I like having my own little niche with my roots firmly planted.”

Elizabeth nodded and said, “I understand.”

“It’s my wife, Miss — she hasn’t been the same since our niece, Betty, left town. She believes a fresh start will do us both some good.”

Her mind wandering, Elizabeth thought of her father and how he might feel when he discovered her own absence. She could never imagine Jamison Collins packing up and abandoning Collinwood. But, then again, never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she would be doing it herself.

“I’m sure it will,” Elizabeth sounded reassuring, although she was not sure if she was trying to convince Hanscom or herself.

A desperate knock at the front door drew their attention away from the subject at hand. Elizabeth experienced a sudden feeling of dread. She could not explain it and yet it felt as if someone had just walked over her own grave.

“Allow me to perform this one last service, Miss Elizabeth?” Hanscom left her side to answer the door as another round of frantic rapping could be heard.

Elizabeth, her heart beating faster, almost cried out for the butler to ignore it. But Hanscom had already reached the door, and when he opened it, a woman burst inside and demanded in a thick Romanian accent, “Where is he?!”

“Please, miss...” Hanscom’s attempt to placate her fell on deaf ears.

“One more word and I’ll cut out your heart,” the woman threatened, making it clear she was not one to be trifled with.

Elizabeth moved into the foyer and addressed the striking figure whose eyes darted frantically around. “Can I help you?” she asked calmly.

“Where is he?” the stranger demanded.

“Who?” Elizabeth took in the other woman’s wild, flame-red hair and brightly colored attire, which was nothing like she had ever seen in Collinsport.

“Don’t play innocent with me!” the woman exclaimed contemptuously. “I know he’s been here and now there’s no trace of him.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea who you’re referring to.”

“Shall I fetch Mr. Collins?” Hanscom asked shakily.

“Collins?” The woman angrily shook her head. “He has many names, but that’s not one of them!”

“No, don’t disturb my father.” Elizabeth thought herself more than capable of handling one seemingly deranged woman. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth.” Hanscom scurried off, leaving the two ladies alone.

“Now,” Elizabeth addressed the intruder, “who are you, and what is your business here?”

“Ethelinda Romano,” she introduced herself, adopting a haughty air. “Descendant of Johnny Romano, King of the Gypsies.”

Of all the thing Elizabeth expected to hear, that certainly wasn’t one of them. She blinked at Ethelinda in disbelief. “You must be joking?”

“You dare!”

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Elizabeth apologized, trying her best to suppress a chuckle, “but I thought gypsies only existed in legends or Hollywood movies.”

“I can assure you we are very real. Now, I’ll only ask one more time — Where is he?”

“And again, I’m asking who?”

“Victor! Victor. Fenn-Gibbon.” She punctuated every word.

Elizabeth’s racing heart plummeted. What on earth could this woman possibly want with Victor? Anxious to the point of being unable to think straight, her first instinct was to protect the man she loved. “You must have made some mistake.” Elizabeth handled herself with grace and a smoothness she imagined her father adopted during board meetings. “I can assure you there is certainly no one here by that name.”

Unyielding, the gypsy took one glance at Elizabeth and declared, “You lie.”

“What?”

“I can sense his presence all over you.” Ethelinda’s eyes widened as she peered deeply into Elizabeth’s soul. “You foolish woman! You’re carrying his child!”

Elizabeth’s cool façade cracked. The color drained from her face as her hand flew to her stomach. “How... how could you know?” she whispered, fearful someone in the house might overhear her secret.

Ethelinda tossed her head back and gazed down her nose at Elizabeth as she explained, “We Romanos can discern a veil of secrets. For twenty years my clan has searched the world over for that man. Now, you refuse to help?”

“Victor left Collinsport yesterday,” a defeated Elizabeth informed her. “I have no idea where he went! He never told me.”

Ethelinda swore, “Then, I curse you! You and your child!”

“No!” Elizabeth protested. “No, stop this — please!”

But no amount of pleading would extinguish Ethelinda’s wrath. “Twenty years — yes, that shall be it,” she decided. “I shall steal the same amount of time from you. If you look upon your child, the baby and all those you love shall die!”

“No, no!” Elizabeth tumbled back and grasped the grandfather clock for support, tears staining her face as she continued to beg, “Please, I cannot help you. I don’t know where Victor has gone — I wish to heaven I did — but I don’t. Do whatever you wish to me, but please don’t harm my baby.”

“That’s your answer? You’ve sealed your own fate!” The gypsy made a complex gesture, pointing first at Elizabeth and then at her mid-section. “The die is cast. You have only yourself to blame. Know this — we will be watching and despite your interference, Victor Fenn-Gibbon will be destroyed.”

Crying out in despair, Elizabeth fell to her knees as Ethelinda turned in a flurry of her colorful garb and stormed from the house.

*****

Swept up in a whirlwind of emotion, Elizabeth’s thoughts returned to the present where Victor had listened quietly while a rush of mounting anger made him stone-faced and his eyes blazed with a white-hot fury.

“I didn’t want to believe it was true,” Elizabeth explained, unaware of the violent storm brewing within Victor. “A curse? It was ridiculous! But the minute that terrible woman left Collinwood, my father turned incredibly ill. He was on the brink of death until I left the house to get a doctor. Father miraculously recovered! It was only when I stepped back inside Collinwood and Father fell ill again that I realized the terrible truth. My baby had been cursed.”

“And so you abandoned our child?” Victor accused, gripping his walking stick with enough force to snap it like a twig.

Elizabeth turned away from Victor’s frightfully chilling gaze, clasping her arms tightly together as if the action would warm her. “What could I do? You disappeared and I couldn’t risk the baby’s life or of those around me. So, I hired a lawyer in Bangor and he arranged for me to have the baby in secret.” Her voice cracked with anguish, “When she was born, I couldn’t even look at her or hold her — my own child — because the danger was too great. I named her Victoria... after you. Because despite everything, I still loved you.”

“Elizabeth,” Victor began softly, his entire demeanor having changed. “I had no idea.”

“No, you didn’t, did you? You assumed the worst of me and you were wrong.” Elizabeth relished putting Victor in his place even as she felt her heart breaking while she recounted her past actions, “I instructed my lawyer to write a note — ‘Her name is Victoria. I cannot take care of her.’ — and he left her in the care of a foundling home in New York.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded far away, as she was actually reliving those haunted moments from her past. “It was winter. The coldest, the most bitter winter I had ever known. I can still feel the chill in my bones.” She visibly shivered as she went on, “I thought that if you returned, you could retrieve Vicki and take her away — far away where she would be safe. But that was a foolish dream on my part, wasn’t it? Two years passed by and with each day, every week, every month, a piece of my heart shattered. I resigned myself to the fact that you were not coming back. And my baby, my poor Vicki would grow up without a mother or a father.”

Shaken to his core, Victor said under his breath, “It was never your fault,” as if discovering the greatest secret in the universe.

Elizabeth, however, did not notice. It was as if a dam had burst and no force on earth could stop the deluge that followed. “On her second birthday, I began to send Vicki an anonymous monthly allowance through my lawyer. It did nothing to ease my guilt, but as the years went by I took solace in the fact my little girl was safe.”

Victor moved up behind Elizabeth, placing a hand on her shoulder. “If she was safe, why did you bring her to Collinwood? Were you not afraid someone might discover her true identity?”

Shrugging off his attempt to comfort her, Elizabeth told him, “You underestimate me, Victor. I vowed that no one would ever learn of Vicki’s identity — not even Vicki herself try as hard as she might.” Elizabeth turned around to face her former lover, revealing, “You asked why I brought her to Collinwood? I made the decision after my brother returned with his son — David — who was deeply troubled and needed more care than I could offer him. I realized it was twenty years to the day that gypsy destroyed my life. It was like a sign — as if some power was telling me the curse had ended. It meant I could bring Vicki home. My lawyer kept me informed of her life at the foundling home and how she taught the children there. I planned and I debated and the answer came to me — I hired Vicki as a governess for my nephew and a companion for myself. I could make her a part of the family while keeping her identity a secret.”

“And no one ever suspected?” Victor asked softly.

“No.” Elizabeth gave a slight shake of her head. “There were questions, of course. I lied, I threatened, and I did everything in my power to keep Vicki safe.” She reminisced to a time five years earlier, “That first night when she arrived and I opened the door, it was like seeing my own reflection in a mirror. It frightened me to think someone might notice the resemblance between us. It was startling, to say the least.” Her voice cracked with emotion as she cried out, “You have no idea how much I wanted to embrace her and tell her the truth! But twenty years had taken its toll and my heart had grown as cold as the foundations of this house. I tormented myself, treating Vicki like a stranger. But her warmth melted the wall of ice I’d barricaded myself in. We became close — very close — and, although she endured hardships, Vicki called Collinwood her home until...”

“...she disappeared,” Victor finished for her. “Vanished into another time.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed as she probed, “How could you possibly know that? And you still haven’t answered my question — how did you learn about Vicki?”

Now, it was Victor’s turn to squirm. “Elizabeth, there are things about myself I never disclosed to you,” he admitted.

“I gathered that much the night that gypsy came here,” Elizabeth remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Let’s just say I have a certain perception that allows me to gather information,” Victor replied, waving a gloved hand with an air of nonchalance.

“You’re being deliberately evasive,” Elizabeth accused him. “Oh, how that mysterious air of yours used to charm me. Well, I can assure you those days are gone. If you were able to find out about Vicki, then the gypsies might have too!”

Victor reassured her, “You need not worry yourself, Elizabeth.” Then, he seemed to take great delight in informing her, “The Romano clan has been taken care of.”

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” She did not care for the sinister implication spilling from Victor’s mouth.

“The reason why I was unable to return to you twenty-five years ago was thanks to the Romanos,” he explained. “They thought themselves clever when they tracked me down in Europe and kidnapped me.”

“Kidnapped you?” echoed Elizabeth in disbelief.

Victor nodded firmly, his tone filled with ire as he clarified, “Yes, while our daughter spent twenty years in a foundling home, I spent a quarter of a century a prisoner of that degenerate filth the world likes to call ‘gypsies’.”

Elizabeth found it difficult to accept that explanation, “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true, and I have no reason to lie.” Victor drew closer, relating his own checkered past. “Elizabeth, when I left here, it was to track down a lost possession of mine — a ring, a very special ring stolen by the gypsies. I found it and managed to keep it hidden even as they locked me in a cage and tortured me in a pathetic attempt to learn the ring’s location.”

Listening with a mounting rage, Elizabeth railed at him, “Are you telling me all of this — the curse, your disappearance — was because of a stolen ring?”

“You cannot comprehend how important it was to secure our future together,” Victor defended himself passionately. “Without it, I could not give you the life I promised away from Collinsport.”

“And in doing so, you managed to wreak havoc on all our lives.” Elizabeth had heard many incredible things in her life, but nothing had appalled her as much as this. “What a fool I was! I gave up everything because of you.”

“Are you telling me you gave up on love?” Victor steely countered. “If so, it did not stop you from marrying Paul Stoddard.”

Stung, Elizabeth tossed back, “If it makes you happy, then you should be positively giddy with the knowledge my marriage to Paul was nothing. I wanted love, he wanted money. The only good thing to come out of it was Carolyn.”

“Oh yes, Carolyn.” Victor nodded, angrily pointing out, “The daughter you decided to keep.”

“Stop it. I never realized how cruel you could be.”

“Cruel? I’m merely stating a fact.”

“Speaking of facts, I’m still waiting for an explanation. How did you know about Vicki and what happened to her?”

Victor exhaled deeply before divulging, “While I rotted away in the gypsies’ cage, I felt something — a disturbance for want of a better word — and it was as if someone had torn a veil through time and space. I reached out with my mind and found the source — imagine my surprise when I realized it was my own daughter!” His eyes shone wildly as he continued, “I could sense her fear and her panic as she found herself in another era. And in that state, her mind was like an open book. Victoria Winters, orphaned governess, hurtled into another time and back again.”

Elizabeth eyed him skeptically and asked, “You want me to believe you’re psychic?”

“Oh, so much more than that,” Victor purred, only to become deadly serious once more. “Imagine my horror when I sensed Victoria’s return to the past and subsequent fall from Widows’ Hill. I renewed my efforts to escape and I managed to do just that.” Again, he paused and waved a dismissive gloved hand. “The details need not concern you.”

Having listened to Victor’s outrageous tale, Elizabeth mulled over his explanation as she slowly walked over to the windows. “Say I accept this story of yours,” she began, remaining uncertain. “Where have you been since your miraculous escape?”

“Tracking down every last Romano,” Victor replied, matter-of-factly, “and planning my revenge.”

“Revenge?” Realization struck Elizabeth with clarity as harsh as the light of day. “Did you come back to harm me and my family? You did, didn’t you?”

“Initially, yes.” Victor admitted, only to interject as Elizabeth started to protest, “Hear me out, Elizabeth. I was wrong to assume the worst of you, but Victoria would have never disappeared into the past if she had roots here. She didn’t, did she? She may have called this mausoleum home, but it wasn’t enough to anchor her in one time and place.”

“You said you can help bring Vicki back,” Elizabeth stated, weary of recriminations. “Is that true, or are you still playing games?”

“Yes, it’s true. All it requires is a certain ritual and... you.”

“Me?”

“You must do what you never allowed yourself to do. Admit the truth — that you are Victoria’s mother.”

Elizabeth panicked, “No, no — I can’t! The gypsies...”

“...are no longer a threat.”

“I promised never to tell anyone.” 

Incensed, Victor lunged at Elizabeth like a shark at feeding time, accusing her, “Are you more worried about protecting the Collins family name than retrieving our daughter?”

Elizabeth, having endured quite enough, slapped Victor across the face with all of her pent-up anger toward him. “No, of course not,” she said, feeling better afterward. “I’ll do anything to bring Vicki home — anything.”

Victor nursed his burning cheek, grinning despite the blow. “Then, prepare yourself, my dear Elizabeth. Because tonight you are going to gather your family in this room and reveal the secret you’ve been carrying for the last twenty-five years.”

Elizabeth’s heart thundered as she contemplated the act. How could she tell the others? What could she say? Neither Carolyn nor Roger would understand let alone forgive her. Barnabas and Julia perhaps but none of them would ever look at her the same way again. It no longer mattered, Elizabeth reminded herself. Vicki desperately needed her help and she was determined to bring her lost daughter home no matter the cost.

Just then, the drawing-room doors opened and Carolyn immediately apologized when she saw her mother had company. “Excuse me,” she said with a girlish giggle. “I didn’t know you were busy, Mother.”

“Wait, Carolyn — it’s lovely to see you again.”

Elizabeth’s blood ran cold as she heard Victor’s voice and realized he had somehow insinuated himself into Carolyn’s life.

“Mr. Fenn-Gibbon?” Carolyn, taken aback, stepped into the room. “Well, this is a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Before Victor had a chance to speak again, Elizabeth snapped to her senses and took control of the situation. “Darling,” she addressed Carolyn, “I take it you’ve met Mr. Fenn-Gibbon?”

“Yes — we ran into each other this morning.” Confused, Carolyn shook her blond mane and asked Victor, “If you were coming to Collinwood, why didn’t you say so when we met?”

“Business isn’t something I mention in casual conversation,” Victor replied, adding, “and I wouldn’t want to influence your mother’s opinion of me if you introduced me as a new friend.”

That made a sort of weird sense to Carolyn, who probed, “So, you’re here on business?”

“Indeed,” Victor confirmed. “I wasn’t sure if I needed to make an appointment to see your mother or not,” he explained, creating a falsehood Elizabeth would be forced to back up. “On a whim, I decided to test my luck, and fortunately for me, Mrs. Stoddard was available.”

“I still wish you had told me,” Carolyn said, smiling. “You didn’t have to keep it a secret.”

“What?” The word ‘secret’ startled Elizabeth, fracturing her cool composure.

“Mother, what is it? You’re as white as a sheet.”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Victor confessed, adding, “Your mother’s stunned by the ridiculously low price I quoted for borrowing each other’s ships.”

Elizabeth, having grown increasingly furious by the moment, regained her calm exterior and interjected, “Mr. Fenn-Gibbon and I still have much to discuss, Carolyn.”

“Of course, Mother.” Carolyn teased Victor, “But watch this one — I have a feeling he’s a sly one.”

The instant her daughter left the room, Elizabeth closed the doors after her and turned on Victor. “I can’t believe your meeting Carolyn was a coincidence.”

Victor neither confirmed or denied the accusation. Instead, he noted with genuine astonishment, “Isn’t it remarkable how supernatural occurrences are drawn to both Victoria and Carolyn? I assumed Victoria inherited it from me. One of the curses of being a member of the Collins family, I suppose.”

“I have had just about enough of your cryptic remarks,” Elizabeth told him with a withering glance. “Can you really help Vicki, or are you more interested in taking pleasure from my suffering?”

“Yes, I can help and I was serious about the ritual,” Victor replied, his demeanor becoming cold sober. “Now, my question to you is this: Are you prepared to tell your family the truth about Victoria?”

Elizabeth stood firm and agreed, “If it will help Vicki, then — yes, I will tell them. I have no other choice, do I?”

“No, you don’t.” Victor smiled over that simple fact. “Can you gather them here tonight?”

“Tonight?” echoed Elizabeth, feeling her heart hammering within her chest. “So soon?”

“Oh, and be sure to invite your friend Professor Stokes. Quite an interesting fellow, that one. And make sure he brings that extraordinary book the two of you found with him.” Victor, behaving as if he owned the place, strode from the room, crossed the foyer, and then out of the house.

Elizabeth silently seethed. Just how much did Victor know? Although it seemed fantastic, she had the uneasy feeling he had been manipulating the situation to his advantage. She wanted to dismiss the possibility, but it was almost as if Victor secreted himself inside of Collinwood and watched events unfold. Could he even be responsible for the dreams she, Carolyn, Roger, and Barnabas experienced? Elizabeth told herself she was being needlessly paranoid, but too many things had happened recently to think of anything else.

However, there was one thing — the most important thing she would ever do — that occupied Elizabeth’s troubled mind. Tonight, she would break her twenty-five-year silence and at last, reveal the truth about Victoria Winters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, the guest characters I imagined playing their roles are David McCallum as Victor Fenn-Gibbon and Marie Wallace as Ethelinda Romano.


End file.
